The Twins Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
by Emperor Sunny
Summary: Sequel to the former. James and Harry go back for year two of their Hogwarts education, and adventure, snotty teachers, education, and hilarity ensue on their way to saving- wait, I can't tell you that part!
1. Chapter 1: Summer Reveille

And now, for the start of book dos, the Chamber of Secrets(WOO...) The last story was a bit of a disappointment to me, so I'm going to follow the book a little more on this one, while adding my own scenes where it merits more often. There's going to be less dialogue, more description, and more depth. Brian is going to play the guitar more often. Master Solo is going to kill some Sith more often. James is going to antagonize Ginny Weasley more often. Travis will work out more of- okay, you get the picture, this ones gonna be better.

**Recommended Listening**: Welcome to Paradise

**Artist**: Green Day

**Album**: Dookie

The sneak peek premiered under a Green Day song, so why not have this one do so, as well?

* * *

_**Disclaimer: This disclaimer is universal, meaning that I'm writing it once, right here, it encompasses everything in this story. Any and all characters, plot, music, or the like do not belong to me, but their respective owners, and are copyrighted, trademarked, and all that jazz to them and them only. I'm not making money on this stuff, but they are. ;)**_

* * *

..._James_...

The green fields of grass were dotted in beautiful colors of blue, red, yellow, violet and white. The wind rustled the blades and flowers like a father rustling his child's hair, lovingly and easy going. James smiled as the cool breeze did the same to his own hair.

The girl danced in the field, right before his eyes. Her hazel eyes glittered in the sunlight as her copper hair whirled around her head, a breathtaking ginger crown. Her sundress fluttered around her knees in a cream colored curtain. She laughed and pranced and skipped across the ground barefoot, her feet never crushing a single plant. Her grace amazed James and made him feel as if he was in the presence of an angel.

He could almost taste her lips, vanilla and the tangy hint of orange. He could feel her warmth as if she was hugging him. He could hear her giggling laugh, and see her dimples as she smiled. But something was off; some form of sense was missing. What was he missing?

James snapped awake with a sudden rush of...

"Ugh! Travis, you're feet stink! Curse you! Curse you and your late night sweaty runs!"

James' best friend and surrogate brother muttered something about stress, and rolled over inside his half of the tiny cupboard. James shook his head and cursed again. Travis Jermaine Barker loved his exercise, but at the expense of personal hygiene, it didn't seem worth the pain to James. Especially since their "guest bedroom" at the Dursleys consisted of an eight-by-eight cupboard beneath the stairs. What a way to spend his twelfth birthday!

James sighed as he sat over the edge of his side of the cot. Rubbing his face with his palms, he tried in vain to clear the sleep from his eyes. He had had another weird dream, but yet again couldn't remember it. Like the last ones, he could remember the emotions that were attached to it, but the dream itself was a mystery to his mind. Happiness, content, cheer… what was he doing that made him so giddy?

Throwing it out of his mind, James stood. He immediately bumped his head against the short part of the cupboard, and once again questioned why he and Travis had to share a tea cupboard, while Harry and Brian got the junk filled spare bedroom. He stepped the half of a step distance between his and Travis' cot to the door, and looked at the makeshift calendar he and Travis had assembled from Chinese markers, crumbled notebook paper, and sticky notes. Two weeks. Two weeks and he and his brothers would be back at Potter Manor, having house elves and their butler prepare their every meal and clean after them, for them._Vacation_. Vacation James' eye. His mother and father wouldn't just leave without telling them weeks ahead of time, or without actually taking them with. James knew his dad wouldn't even take vacation from work without making sure he got time to spend with his kids. James Ignotus Potter was anything but an inconsiderate dad, and worked hard to keep it that way. Dumbledore sent them to Japan for something; James just didn't have any idea what for.

Hello Kitty Merchandise? _I'm sure that would scare the hell outta Voldemort._

Anime comic books? Amusing, but wildly over the top, even for Dumbledore.

World War Two sightseeing? Doubtful. Voldemort wouldn't employ tactics that any muggle general could combat.

No, he sent them for magical reasons, and James knew it. But what was there, other than the world's largest export of weird?

Sighing, James gave up. Taking the grease pen and drawing an "X" over July thirty-first, he cursed how badly his birthday was already going. He dropped the pen and tried the door handle. It didn't move. Uncle Vernon must have locked it again, having "forgotten about their little guests." Or maybe Dudley just thought it would be funny. Either way, James decided that he did not want to spend his morning waiting for Aunt Petunia to open the door for them and order him into the kitchen to make crepes.

Stepping back, James reared his right leg up and kicked the door open. With a less than dramatic crash, the door flew open. Travis sprang awake and fell off the other side of the cot. James shook his head and walked out, muttering "Get up!" along the way.

James stumbled into the kitchen and immediately wished he had stayed in bed. It appeared that Aunt Petunia had decided to make breakfast this morning, but her above par cooking didn't stop Uncle Vernon from being in a bad mood.

"This is the third time this week!" Uncle Vernon roared as he savagely cut at his sausage. It always amused James how he could multitask eating with his violent, angry rampages. "Either shut those ruddy owls up or they will have to go!"

James snorted. "As if they are doing us any good. They aren't even allowed to go out."

"That's exactly what I have been trying to tell him," Harry pointed out as James sat down. "Hedwig and Wabbajack and Cobain and Griffin are _bored_. If they could just exercise-"

Harry was James' twin, and they looked barely anything alike. Whereas Harry was short, had black hair, their mother's eyes, and a lightning bolt scar, James was even shorter, had their mother's dark red hair and those same brilliant green eyes. The only scar he had was the crescent shaped one on his shoulder, where he had received a compound fracture when he was six and had to go to the hospital to have surgery done to fix the shattered humerus sticking out from his skin.

"I'm not that ruddy stupid!"

_Could have fooled me_, James thought to himself as he sat down.

"If I let them out, you'll be able to talk to your freaky little mates."

Vernon and Petunia shot dirty, dark looks at each other as their fat and ogreish son Dudley shoveled scrambled eggs into his eager big mouth. The very sight of it made James want to dry heave. Harry, meanwhile, had continued to try and argue with their demonic uncle but his words were blown away by a loud and thunderous belch that erupted from Dudley's belly and cascaded out of his wide and disgusting mouth.

James fell off his chair. He was laughing so hard he convulsed and slammed his head on the leg of the table, but couldn't help but keep laughing until Aunt Petunia swatted him with a spatula.

Harry's rebuttal was again interrupted when two sudden appearances froze the room. "What the hell just happened?" Travis and Brian asked in chorus, wide looks on their faces and fear in their eyes.

"Dudley belched, and Indonesia went that way," James answered, pointing out the dining room window.

"And watch your language in a hosts home," Petunia sneered as she stingily placed half a piece of bacon and a few scraps of egg on three plates.

The two sat and munched on their overcooked bacon. James nodded at Brian, his other best friend and surrogate brother. His angular face had lost some of its baby fat, but his dark eyes still held a hollowed look. His dark, almost black hair didn't help dissolve the image of emotional blankness. He grinned and nodded back at James, a smirk that never looked quite right on his pale face.

Giving up all hope that he could persuade Uncle Vernon, Harry lowered his head and finished his meager breakfast. James and the other two followed, munching slowly and waiting to be excused. If they left without explicit permission, Uncle Vernon would yell more, and then James would never get to enjoy any part of his and Harry's shared birthday.

"I want more bacon," Dudley grunted piggishly.

"There's more in the pan, sweetums," Petunia crooned. "We must build you up while we have the chance. I don't like the sound of that Smeltings food."

"Nonsense, Petunia" Vernon heartily boasted. "I never went unsatisfied when I went to Smeltings. You get enough to eat there, don't you boy?"

Dudley ignored his father and stared pompously at Harry. "Pass the pan."

Harry glared back and sneered. "You forgot the magic word."

James' hopes of getting out after breakfast disappeared in midair the instant his brother said those five words. Harry just _had_ to be smart.

The Dursleys erupted. Dudley, who had just been put in the know of the Potter's "Family Inheritance" screamed like a girl in fear and ducked under the table. Petunia gasped and ran from the kitchen, hands over her mouth to keep from screaming. Vernon stood up and very threateningly waved a finger at the four of them.

"I meant please!"

"Yes," James muttered, bored. "He meant please."

"What have I told you about that word, boy?! The four of you came here knowing your freak show acts were banned!"

"I didn't do anything! I asked him to say please!"

"Please don't tell the silly muggles how to raise their incompetent children, Harry" James monotonously commanded. "You know they can't handle much of anything, much less criticism."

"And you!" Vernon turned to James. James looked up and shot his eyebrows up.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?"

"I will have no more of your lip!"

"You aren't getting any of my lip, sir."

"I bloody well better not be!"

"You have enough lip of your own, if I may so, Uncle Vernon. Anymore of mine would just make your face seem odd."

This made Dudley's head bang against the underside of the table, so shocked was he. Brian and Travis fell back off their chairs, clattering to the floor in fits of laughter.

Vernon's face went from its typical puce-angry color to an as yet unseen angry black color. James nonchalantly looked back at his uncle, as if he was talking about the last London Irish game.

"_Boy_-"

"I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon," James droned. "It won't happen again."

"It better not," Vernon muttered, as if realizing something. "You should be gracious I even accept you in my home, little freaks."

Petunia came simpering back inside the kitchen. With a nervous look between her husband and nephew, she sat down at the table. It seemed like Vernon had decided to act as though any disagreement had never happened. His wife and son followed his lead, looking muted but hateful.

James knew why he was dropping the matter. Even though James Sr. and Lily both explained that the four were never allowed to do magic out of school, as it was illegal to do so until they came of age, Vernon knew James. Knew that he was a rule-breaker, and that he very rarely respected boundaries. He knew that James also had morals and that if they got stepped on…

James ceased his line of thought. Two weeks from now, he'd be back in his familiar town of East Cowes, sunning it up on the beach and watching pretty tourist girls walk around the beach in bathing suits. Maybe there'd be a few American's there, and he and Brian and Travis would strike up a game of beach football, or volleyball, or maybe even baseball. James, Harry, Brian, and Travis all lowered their heads, shut their mouths, and ate their paltry morning meals, all wishing to be somewhere else.

It would have been better if he had allowed their stuff to be out. James had a four-foot long Transfiguration essay due, and Potions to study on. Brian wanted to have his guitar out to play, and practice for his Music Club goings-on. Travis couldn't workout properly, because all of his weightlifting gear was in his trunk. Harry and James both needed to practice flying, in order to stay on their house quidditch teams. But what did Aunt and Uncle Dursley care? To them, they were just a bunch of circus sideshow freaks, who belonged at an institutionalized school for criminally insane children.

The Potters and the Dursleys, though related, were nothing alike. James and Lily were open-minded and carefree with James, Harry, Travis and Brian. They were tough when they needed to be, fair, and loving without actually spoiling them. The Dursleys treated Dudley like he was God's gift to the Earth, and presented him to everyone as such. They were paranoid and unhappy, always fearful of those who were even remotely different to themselves. It made James sick.

The only reason James and his brothers were even near them at all was because of their mother. Petunia was the older sister of Lily, and Lily loved her. James didn't know how or why his mother could love such a troll. She looked like a horse, acted like a horse, and emulated a horse with her skittish manner. The greater mystery, though, was how Aunt Petunia could love, or even consider having a family with the man widely known as Vernon Dursley, whose closest friends all called him "Satan."

Vernon was a walking tub of butter, soft and jiggly and fat. His obesity went so far as to negate any neck he had by means of bacon, double-buttered toast, and extra helpings of treacle tart. He was foul-mannered to those he felt were below him, and oily and falsely polite to those he wanted to _be_ above. If James loathed his aunt, then he despised his uncle.

James was below him, at least by Vernon's standards, and as such, was nothing. He was a varmit***** with a genetic defect that could make him superior, and as such should be treated like trash. James failed to see Vernon's logic, because if James had a possibility of being over him, shouldn't he try being nice? Didn't that just make sense? If Vernon was so concerned about James becoming a riff raff serial killer, shouldn't he be trying not to get on his "To Do List" and instead try his best not to encourage it?

The troll couldn't even remember James and Harry's birthday, not that he cared.

Vernon cleared his throat in a hacky way, trying to sound important. "Now, as we all know, today is a very important day."

James, Harry, Travis and Brian all looked up in unison, barely daring to believe what they were hearing.

"Today could very well be the day I make the greatest deal of my career."

The four dropped their heads and got back to their scraps of egg. Of course Vernon wouldn't be talking about them. Since when were they important? Since when did he celebrate any birthday that wasn't his own or his son's? Not even Aunt Petunia got any recognition. And for that, James actually felt sorry for her.

"We should all be in position by eight o'clock. Petunia, you will be-?"

"In the lounge," Petunia said fancily, putting a hand to her over-long neck in a manner that was supposed to be graceful, but ended up looking ridiculous. "Waiting to welcome them graciously in our perfectly normal-" she shot a look at Brian and Travis- "Home."

"Precisely," Vernon boomed happily, his voice almost shaking the table. "And Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door," Dudley said proudly, as if he was about to do something important. With a foul, simpering grin, he uttered, "'May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?'"

Travis choked on his last small bite of bacon and his last gulp of orange juice. Brian slapped him on the back, and snorted, trying to keep from laughing. Petunia, however, had a different reaction.

"They'll love him!" she gushed joyfully.

They'll love making fun of him as soon as they leave, James thought ruefully.

"Excellent, Dudders," Vernon said, ignoring the four Potters' reactions. He rounded on them and stared crazily at them. "And you four?"

"We'll be in the spare bedroom, doors locked, pretending we don't exist," they chorused monotonously.

"Exactly," Vernon hissed nastily. "I will lead them into the lounge, introduce them to you, Petunia, and pour the drinks. At eight-fifteen-"

"I'll announce dinner," Petunia said.

"And Dudley, you'll ask…?"

"May I take to the table, Mrs. Mason?'" Dudley offered his grotesquely fat arm to an invisible woman.

"My perfect little gentleman!"

James and Harry both snorted. James wondered where the popcorn vender was; this was quite the entertaining show.

It was too much for Travis and Aunt Petunia, though. Petunia actually burst into tears and jumped up to hug her porky son. Travis, on the other hand, had to duck under the table to keep the Dursleys from seeing him as he busted into fits of hysterical laughter.

"And you four?" Vernon asked again.

"We'll be in the spare bedroom, doors locked, pretending we don't exist," Harry, James and Brian chorused, trying to keep straight faces themselves.

"Too right, you will," Vernon said gruffly. "The Masons don't even know you exist, and I plan on keeping it that way. Now, when dinner's over and your pudding has been finished, you take Mrs. Mason to the lounge for coffee. I'll bring the conversation over to drills, and with a little luck, by this time tomorrow we'll be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca.

"What's a Majorca?" Dudley asked stupidly.

"A city in Spain," Brian and James answered.

"Hush, you two," Petunia scolded, as if they had insulted him. "Little Diddykins could have figured that out himself.

As if.

"Right. Now, I'm off to pick up the dinner jackets for myself and Dudley to wear this evening. And you four stay out of your aunt's way as she cleans."

"Gladly."

The hot summer air hit James and Harry like a ton of bricks as soon as they walked out the front door of Number 4, Privet Drive.

"I freaking hate this, man," James complained.

"Me too," Harry agreed.

The two brothers walked down the short driveway and began their trek towards the park. James pulled out his cassette player and turned the volume up. The heavy, rhythmic bass beats of Cliff Burton's guitar met Harry's ears with a kick. That was something he had learned about his formerly estranged twin; when he was down, he listened to loud and proud metal music.

Harry had been learning quite a bit about his twin James Dean since he had first met him back in September of 1988. Every day he was learning something new and shocking about him, while James seemed to have Harry read like the back of his hand. He hadn't even known that he could speak a limited amount of Spanish until last Christmas.

"Where are Travis and Brian?" Harry asked loudly enough to get his twin's attention.

"Huh?" James tugged the headphones off.

"Where are the other two?"

"They said they'll meet us in the park. They wouldn't say where they were going, but that they would meet us in the park."

"Oh. Think it has something to do with today?"

James snorted. "I hope not. Last thing I need is those two throwing us a surprise birthday party in a park full of strangers. _British_ strangers, at that."

Another thing Harry had learned about his brother; he didn't endear himself to his home culture of England. James was so enamored with his American upbringing that he found it very hard to relate to the people in Britain. Because of this, James often avoided the gatherings and goings on back home on the Isle of Wight and at Hogwarts; quidditch being the rare exception.

They walked into the park and went straight to the oak tree in the center; the designated meeting place. James checked his watch and sighed in exasperation; they themselves were ten minutes late.

"Where in hell are they?"

* * *

"The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower," the pastor preached from his Bible.

Brian yawned.

"Dude, why are we here?" he whispered to his best friend, Travis. He shushed Brian without taking his eyes off of the Father. He was leaned back in his pew, with his arms spread to either side of him on the back of the pew as one of his legs was curled underneath of him.

"Dude, quit acting like Jimmy Dean," Brian quipped. Travis ignored him.

"These words are just one phrase among many that show God's love for his very creation. Strength is an almost flexible term. Some of us are strong with muscles and athletic ability; others are strong in will, in spirit. God gives us strength in many different forms, so that we are equipped to handle the problems that come our way. He gives us strength so that we can get through his trials."

"If God gave us the strength to handle all our problems on our own, why did he send Jesus then?" Travis asked loudly and suddenly. The entire church turned to regard Brian and Travis with shock and distaste. How dare he question the Pastor?

The Father, however, looked shockingly impressed.

"Dude, what do you think you are-"

"It's my party, I'll cry if I wanna," Travis cut off Brian and looked to the pastor challengingly.

"That is a good question. Why _did_ God send us his one and only begotten Son if we already had the tools to save ourselves? The answer, my child, is that even though we all have the strength to pass our tests, not everyone has the knowledge or the ambition to do so. Jesus came so that all of those lost souls would be able to find their way to the greener pastures. He came to save us."

'So in essence, we don't need strength. We are already saved."

"No. Jesus cannot save those who do not believe he exists, or those who turn him away."

"So by simply having faith, and accepting Jesus as your savior, will get somebody a one-way ticket to the pearly gates?"

"Well, yes."

"You don't sound convinced, Father."

"I know the word of God, my son."

"And yet the word of God has changed drastically over the years by corrupt church officials and governmental bureaucrats who sought to bring themselves power by taking advantage of an uneducated, religiously based population."

"You are highly educated for one so young… I take it you grew up in America, judging by your accent?"

"Yeah."

"I take it you are a Catholic, as well."

"Dude, how did he guess that?" Brian whispered.

"Dunno," Travis answered. He regarded the pastor again. "Yeah."

"Then you believe that you aren't given your place in Heaven. You have to earn it."

"That was the general idea, yes."

"So now it's my turn to ask you a question?"

"You just did."

A universal chuckle arose from the congregation. The Father himself chuckled, and shook his head. "Let's say you grew up all alone, you raised yourself out in some wild and open jungle. You would have no knowledge in Christ, am I correct?"

"Yeah…"

"So when you come back into society, you will be remarkably different than everyone around you. You would live a life based on logic and reasoning, sharpened by the life lived based on survival, rather than living a full life."

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

"Well, that's a problem, ain't it? I mean, having a logical frame of mind is not bad, but I have learned one thing about people who live by logic and reasoning alone- they are selfish. That's because their logic is telling them what's best for them, and not for their neighbors or their world as a whole. Do you understand?"

"I hear ya," Travis affirmed. He was looking at the Crucifix around the Pastor's neck while paying half an ear to what the man was saying.

"Now ask that wild boy to come to church, and submit his life to Jesus. That's bound to be a problem for him."

"Yeah, it is…" Travis brought his eyes back up to the Father's, and found him smiling. It kinda gave Travis the creeps.

"That wild boy is each of us before we all find the glory of God. It is difficult for us to admit there is something bigger than us, and a difficult challenge for all of us to overcome. But that is a strength that God has given us; humility. It takes a truly strong person to admit they are not the top mate on the food chain. That, in my eyes, is all the payment you need to earn your place with Our Lord. Do you see?"

"Yeah, I- yeah."

The pastor grinned and held his hands up high and began a prayer.

"Dude, you shoulda just kept your trap shut," whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

"That was worth it. Trust me."

…

"Boys, may I have a word?" The pastor asked as the sermon ended. They were on the front steps of the church and the park was in sight.

Brian shrugged as Travis nodded. The Father smiled and motioned to the steps, taking a seat himself. The two followed his example.

"I would like to apologize about the reception your argument got with the rest of the congregation. I find that most of my adult patrons, especially the senior citizens, are slow to question anything. So worried about the afterlife are they that they eat my words as if it were the absolute truth, and never do they stop to try and figure it out themselves. I would like to thank you for bringing your questions up this morning."

"Uh, no prob."

The pastor laughed. "It's refreshing to have someone actually try to figure out the word of God rather than just taking it for what it is. I'd like you to have this," the man pulled the crucifix from his neck and folded it into Travis' hands. "It has seen me through a lot of bad days. I pray it does to you to. Now, I must go, God Bless you two."

Travis looked at Brian and popped the cross in the air, while pulling out a bag of sweets and a Pride of Portree t-shirt. "Happy Birthday, Harry and Jimmy Dean."

* * *

Harry sat at the base of the tree while James had climbed up and was perched on a branch near the top, staring down at the bushes lining the jogging lane from the rest of the park. Metallica's Master of Puppets album thundered in his ears as he reminisced about the year before. Many a mishap had happened, and not all of it was at all bad. Harry had saved the Philosopher's Stone. Both of them had made their House Quidditch teams, and had unintentionally made some very good friends.

Friends, James snorted. What good where Ron, Hermione and Emma if they had not written, much less written back? James and Harry couldn't send letters out because Uncle Vernon had locked their wands and everything else magical up in a cupboard and threw away the key. But still, they themselves could have written…

James squashed that line of thought. He didn't need to be thinking that stuff, especially not on is twelfth birthday. James grunted and looked down at Harry, who was staring wistfully at a group of kids who looked to be around their age.

"Why don't you go join 'em?"

Harry looked up at James. "We wouldn't exactly fit in, would we? I mean, we are rather different from them."

James nodded and shrugged. "Just act cool and play along. Act like you know what they are talking about."

"James, aren't you at all disturbed to know Voldemort is alive?"

That shocked James; he hadn't expected that question. He stared down at the bushes and thought, Wait, why the heck were they staring back!?

So shocked to see a set of bulging green eyes staring out from the bushes was James that he fell. "Wah!"

"You saw them too?" Harry queried as he jumped at the bushes, trying to see who was spying on them. "There's no one here…"

"Well, gee, my twin baby brother! Thanks for your concern," James grunted as he lifted himself from the grass, holding his right arm. He didn't know what the thing that was staring at him through the shrubberies was, but it definitely was not of the muggle world…


	2. Chapter 2: I'm Bringing the Mojo Back

So, after a recent Trojan Horse, spyware hack attempt, and a flurry of changed passwords and e-mails, I'm back. Chapter two, all nice and gift wrapped. I changed my pen name, if all of you were kind enough to notice, so now I'm AndyS aka King of LC. The damn hackers...

Anyway, I posted a new little "fic" called "James Dean Potter Explains...", a new little thing I decided to write. Jimmy Dean explains the theoretical goings-on behind many a topic, and he is ver much open to suggestions *hint-hint*

Onto the story. You are going to notice some format changes to this one. I'm not gonna be jumping around impossibly stupid tangents like I did the last one, and it's going to be more in line with the books, only with a "Jimmy Dean Twang" to it. It will mostly be told from James' perspective, although, as you'll notice at the end of this chapter, I will tell some small bits from James Sr.'s, Harry's, and maybe a little of Dumbledore's eyes. That means no more Voldemort; sorry, kiddies, but me and James Dean have seen into that sicko's mind, and we do NOT like what we see.

As for things like non-plot essential pranks, conversations, and letters-to-home, they're gonna be posted in "Random Moments" chapters, as short little snippets. Or, as the French would say(maybe...?) Snip-PAY. Other parts that ARE plot relevant, but not exactly what I want in an actual chapter, will take over the spot of the last story's "Interlewds." Think of them as... plot fillers.

Okay, updates are over. On to the next segment...

**Recommended Listening**: Welcome to Paradise

**Artist**: Green Day

**Album**: Dookie

_Dookie. Vernon is one!_

* * *

James batted at the bushes wildly, using his arms as if they were scythes. "Come back here, ya little perving stalker _freak_!"

"James, I think it's gone."

"No, it most definitely is not!"

How could it be? Nothing small enough to hide in a small tangle of shrubbery could just disappear. It wasn't possible, if it wasn't human. James continued to dig into the bush, releasing a string of curses that were hardly age appropriate.

But his mad search came back empty. There were no little kids hiding in the branches, under the leaves, or inside the dirt-covered roots. But then something mentally hit him. Hard.

"Why am I screaming with a British accent?"

As he had been yelling at the top of his lungs, a mild, almost unnoticeable tilt to his voice had been evident. It was subtle, but James knew that even Harry noticed it. The one last tangible thing he had left to attach him to his upbringing was leaving him, it appeared. And that, no matter what Harry said, was a pretty big deal.

"It's no big deal," Harry laughed. "You have been living in England for years now. It was bound to happen."

James rounded on Harry a little too quickly. "Don't tell me it ain't a big deal!"

"Ain't ain't a word-"

"Finish that sentence, and I'll crush your brain before you ever _realize_ what it does," James threatened viciously.

"Okay, _okay_," Harry threw his hands up in defeat. "So what do you think those eyes were?"

"We are just… imagining things. Yeah, we're imagining things, because we are two idiots. We will not mention this… momentary lack of sanity to anyone else, right?"

"Whatever," Harry sighed as he sat back against the tree trunk. "This is so boring."

"If a little peace and quiet is disrupting you," James snapped, "Then why don't you go hang out with those kids, instead of mocking the loss of my heritage?"

Harry snapped his eyes up at the group of girl's their age, and James quickly followed. They were all dressed in baggy shirts and shorts, kicking a football around. They giggled happily and all seemed to be having a good time. James felt envious that they were getting to enjoy their summer holidays, while he and his brothers were stuffed away, forced to sleep in a tea cupboard or a spare bedroom filled with broken toys and snapped furniture. Things were getting so stressed that they were even turning on each other, arguing over something in a _bush_.

"America is not your heritage."

"I grew up there. It's a part of me."

"And yet you were born here, and your family is considered nobility here."

"Whatever," James muttered as he sat down next to Harry. "This is so boring."

Harry snapped his head at James, seemingly ready to bite his head off, but James guessed he thought better of it. He closed and opened his mouth, and then shut it again. Maybe he was finally getting it into his head that despite how much he hated the old muggle orphanage, James was really missing what he felt was "home."

James looked down between his knees, and was surprised to feel an arm around his shoulders. When he looked up at Harry, he found his scarred twin smiling sadly. Maybe Harry wasn't as much of a dolt as he had been when they first met, after all.

"Wanna go play some football?"

* * *

"James, what the hell were you two doing?" Travis asked.

He and Brian had just showed up to the park as James and Harry's soccer scrimmage with the group of girls ended. James and Harry were both sweaty, ragged, and worst of all, they stank. James could still smell the girly perfume of one of them (Cassandra, he thought,) on his Megadeath shirt. His jeans were covered in dirt and smeared grass stains.

Travis crinkled his nose. "Dude, you smell like grass, sweat and girl. Why the hell were you playing soccer? You've never played it before in your life. In fact, back in pee wee football-"

"Hand-egg."

"Whatever. You always called soccer players-"

"_Football_ players. We're in Britain, now, remember?"

"_Enough_. You always called _soccer_ players 'lawn fairies.' _We_ always called them 'lawn fairies.' Why are you joining them now?"

James shrugged. In all honesty, he couldn't really pinpoint why he joined Harry and the small group of British girls. Two years ago, he would have scrunched his face, much like Travis had, and screamed bloody murder. But it was in the moment of brotherly love, and how could he say no to his dopey little brother?

Okay, he was considered "little" by a mere five minutes, but that five minutes still gave James seniority.

Besides, the girls were cute. James reeled internally at that thought, as well. Since when did he call the vile, evil little cretins who were the bane of his existence "cute?" Didn't he grow up hating the girls of his orphanage? Didn't he recoil in disgust whenever he heard them giggle in their Sirenish, high tones?

"Stress," James answered finally with a shrug. It was kind of true, to be honest. The last four weeks in Surrey had really been building up a lot of tension, and the chance to just vent the frustrations out was emancipating. Getting stuck in a tea cupboard will do that to a kid.

"Stress," Travis enunciated slowly, as if he had just heard the worst excuse in the world.

"Stress," James said again simply, nodding his head. "Besides, that black-haired, Spanish immigrant girl's kinda cute," he explained as he looked at the girl in question. She and her friends caught his gaze, and giggled to themselves when he waved. "Admit it; you think she's _muy caliente_, too."

"Point," Brian conceded. Harry simply blushed. Travis looked at the three of them and shook his head in dejection, as if knowing he was outmatched. James knew he had befriended the guy for something.

"My best friend," Travis muttered as he shoved a crucifix into James' hands before turning around and walking away. "Grass queen, cootie-bearing, perfume smelling, and now obviously a pimp."

* * *

The sunset over Little Whinging cast the sky in shades of red and orange, with pink lines of fluff along the clouds. Harry had taken off his green polo and changed into the Pride of Portree shirt Brian and Travis had gotten him. The three walked ahead of James, sharing the bag of normal, muggle jelly beans and joking around as the group walked back to Number 4, Privet Drive. The "argument" back at the park seemed to have been forgotten when the birthday wishes were thrown out, and now they were going back to the Dursleys' so that they wouldn't get in trouble, for being found out by the Masons.

James, however, didn't want to go back. He felt a childish, uncharacteristically illogical desire to stay in the park and continue playing soccer with the girls. Their parents had come by, and were there to watch as they played on into the night. James wished he could have stayed.

He fingered the large, heavy gold cross around his neck. Brian had told him that Travis had somehow gotten a priest to fork it over. Travis had argued the Father's sermon, and questioned the man's teachings, and his reward was a crucifix made of pure gold. It had to have been worth over three hundred dollars, but it was worth more than that to James. How many best friends talk a priest into handing over their most valued possession, just for their best mate's birthday?

"Hey, Jimmy Dean!"

James looked up to find he was lagging behind. The other three were half a block ahead of him, staring at him oddly.

"Don't call me Jim, Brian!" James shouted as he jogged to catch up. Taking point, he walked ahead of the pack. "Pass me those beans."

Brian did so, punching him on the shoulder. James returned the favor and popped a couple purple beans into his mouth. He savored the sweet, artificial taste of grape, and rolled the chewed sweets around in his mouth. It was like feeling had just popped back into place after weeks of being numb.

James Dean had his mojo back.

What the hell was he doing, taking what the Dursleys gave him? Vernon was a borderline abusive, neglectful, snide little cockroach. He gave little, and insulted them for having to take it. He locked them up, and then pretended to forget that he threw away the key. He kept them away from the things they loved, and for what? James knew why; it was the sole fact that Uncle Vernon actually _feared_ them.

"I'll give him something to be afraid of," James muttered, stopping midstride.

"Oof!"

"Hey, what was that for!?"

Brian and Harry had walked straight into his back, causing all of them to stumble. James didn't really care, though, because it was the most marvelous feeling, planning a prank. Like setting feet on dry land after weeks of being lost at sea, James was now putting his mind back to familiar ground.

It was Vernon's fault for his pent up angst. It was Petunia's fault that his back ached and his arms were sore. It was Dudley's fault that he had a bruise all over his arms. And it just seemed fit that the Dursleys became the target of his next prank. He hadn't gone through with one in a while, and since he was long overdue anyways, why not make Hell's Overlords' lives hell? But what would he do? How would he do it?

The morning's conversation hit him with a rush, and he knew he had the answer. _Uncle Vernon's dinner party._

"We're gonna screw Uncle Vernon over," he declared.

"How?" Harry and Brian asked.

"What are ya thinkin', Jimmy Dean," Travis demanded. "Crash their party tonight?"

James grinned at his best friend. Travis' dark chocolate figure grinned back. James knew he was always up for screwing around with the Dursleys, even if they didn't deserve it. Which was never, in all honesty, because they always _did_ deserve what they had coming to them. James and Travis just grinned at each other, and it was like a psychic transaction went through their eyes.

"Harry," James started. "We are all gonna run late. You will then run into the house, tell Aunt Petunia we have no time for dinner, and act like we are with you. She'll be in the kitchen and won't see us, so make a little extra noise to make up for our absence, and lock yourself in the bedroom."

"Once you're there," Travis took over, "Throw down our muggle dress clothes. Button-up white shirts, pants, ties, and shoes if you can find 'em. We'll be waiting down beneath the window."

"Guys," Brian muttered. "What's going on?"

"We're screwing up Uncle Vernon's future," James and Travis chorused.

* * *

James, Brian, and Travis dressed themselves in the dark. They threw their t-shirts, old jeans, and shoes in a bag and hid it behind the old oak tree to the left of the house, and then cowered in the bushes, waiting for the Mason's to arrive.

Before long, a pristine, pearly white Aston Martin pulled in the drive. The engine purred off, and the headlights dimmed to nothingness, and for a moment the only sound that penetrated the still, suburban air was the soft clicking of the engine as it cooled under the hood. A tall, thin man with thinning blonde hair got out, and walked over to the passenger side. Opening the door, Mr. Mason's wife got out, and James, Travis, and Brian's jaws hit the dirt. In a skimpy black cocktail dress, a woman who had to be twenty years Mr. Mason's junior stepped out of the car, her matching black heels clacking the pavement. Long, shiny, brunette hair was held up in a simple but very attractive ponytail. Brilliant blue eyes drew attention by way of long, seductive eyelashes.

"God damn puberty," James muttered quietly, fanning himself.

"Whoa…" was all Brian could say, staring in complete shock.

"Still think _Muy Caliente_ is cute, there, Jimmy Dean?" Travis asked snidely, but even he couldn't hide the lust in his voice.

"Muy Caliente who?" James asked, only half jokingly.

The Mason couple walked up to the porch, arm in arm. Mr. Mason knocked on the door politely, and started fidgeting. Rolling his shoulders and swiveling his neck, he popped a few vertebrae and was apparently trying to relax.

"Relax," Mrs. Mason cooed, running her hands down his neck. Her voice reminded James of chocolate. Dark, smooth, _mouth-watering_ chocolate…

"Dude," Brian breathed, "Her voice is like velvet…"

"Chocolaty velvet…" Travis agreed.

"I'm trying, sweetheart," Mr. Mason sighed. "I just don't know how this is going to go."

"Would you two shut up?" James requested, annoyed. He had to admit, though, it was hard not to talk about Mrs. Mason. Dudley and Vernon, it seemed were in for hell, and the Devil was wearing Prada. Or Gucci, James couldn't really tell. "They are trying to have a conversation!"

"Did you hear something?" Mrs. Mason asked,

"Crap! She heard us!" Brian cried quietly. "I don't think I could stand having those eyes looking at me!"

"Yeah, I did," Mr. Mason said, looking up. "What is that thumping noise?"

James started hearing it, too. It was coming from Harry and Brian's bedroom.

"What the hell is Harry doing?"

"I dunno," Travis groaned. "But it's going to ruin the entire thing."

"May I take your-" Dudley started as he opened the door, but as soon as he saw Mrs. Mason, he cut himself off. Dudley, it seemed, was hitting puberty as well. His eyes bugged out of his head and he stared at Mrs. Mason piggishly. James covered up his evil snickers as Dudley held up his arm, while his mouthed opened and closed like a fish out of water. "-coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

Mr. Mason laughed. "That's very nice of you, son, but we aren't wearing any coats."

"O-oh, we-well come in," Dudley bade, sweeping his fat form aside, leaving a small track of space between himself and the wall. He was breathless.

Mr. Mason smiled with a small amount of strain and slipped past him. His wife, ever the gracious guest, smiled happily down at Dudley's small, fat face and kissed him on the cheek. It was like a muted explosion went off in the bushes, as James and Travis struggled to keep Brian in hiding.

"I'll kill him!" Brian whispered hoarsely. "I'll kill him! How dare he get kissed?"

Thankfully, Dudley and Mrs. Mason never heard the disturbance and they went inside; James grabbed Brian by his collar as soon as they were out of sight. Manhandling Brian into the side of the porch, James ripped into him.

"What the hell, man! She doesn't know how much of a swine wittle Duddy-kins is! You could have given us away!"

"B-but-"

"No buts!" James scream-whispered angrily, grabbing his brother by the collar again and dragged him over to the fence dividing Number 3, Privet Drive and Number 4. "No woman, no matter how beautiful, is worth blowing a prank like this! No, go sit in a corner!"

He shoved Brian into the edge where the two fences met, and stalked off towards the Dursleys' lounge window. Travis, who had just watched as his best friend went ballistic on his other best friend, quietly followed.

Something that sounded like a shrill cry came from Harry's room. James couldn't think of what Harry could be doing, or why he'd be crying. He hadn't cried in years, ever since he cracked his skull on a rock while fishing with Hagrid. What he was doing, James didn't know, but it had to stop.

"Harry!" James whispered, tossing a rock at the window. Harry's face emerged in the darkness. He wasn't crying.

"Two seconds!" he whispered back. Another thump, and something that sounded like someone calling James' name was muffled, and Harry was back. "I'm having problems! There's a-"

"I don't care what is up there!" James interrupted. Anger got the better of James, who had had enough problems already. "Just get it under control, now!"

James didn't give his twin another chance to reply. He and Travis crept up to the window to the lounge, and peered sneakily over the sill. Vernon was doing most of the talking, looking purple and sweating. Petunia mirrored her husband's nervousness, picking at the hem of her Sunday best dress. Dudley was eyeing Mrs. Mason from his corner, his fat lips mashed in a pale, thin line.

Vernon was apparently telling a joke. Something about penguins and an Irish dingbat, but James couldn't get the gist of it through the glass plane. He already knew the punchline, and it wasn't that great. The Masons laughed politely at it, though.

As the dinner party stood up when Petunia announced dinner, ten minutes before it was due, Dudley offered his arm to Mrs. Mason. It seemed her own graces were tiring, however, as she gave him a tense smile and took his offered fat arm. James looked over to Travis to make a quip about Dudley, when he saw his brother staring at Mrs. Mason's retreating back.

"Quit drooling!" James snapped, punching Travis in the side.

Travis wiped the corners of his mouth and grinned. "Sorry, bro. It's a little hard _not_ to, y'know?"

James sighed. "If that's the best you can do, just keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking, you hear?"

"Gladly," Travis grinned happily.

"And no staring, either."

The look on Travis' face disappeared, and his head sunk with resignation. James waved at Brian, who quickly stood up and joined them. James led the two up the front steps of the porch as another loud bang resonated from Harry's room.

"Again?" Travis asked despondently. "What's he doing up there, riding a bull or something?"

Vernon had apparently gotten the same inclination, as he pounded up the stairs. A wave of panic crashed over James; if he walked into that room and didn't see James, Travis and Brian there, they were toast. Vernon needed to be surprised when he saw them, not expecting them to walk in at any minute.

"Stay here," James ordered as he hurdled over the rail of the porch and the bushes lining it. He could hear Uncle Vernon's venomous hiss as Harry made excuses.

"What the devil are you doing!?"

"Uh, uh… um, er… Travis fell out of the bed, sir. It won't happen again, Uncle Vernon."

"What! Let me in there, let me see!"

"No, no! Uh… um… he doesn't want to be seen, now. He's been crying a lot and... Er… You know… 'Boys will be boys,' you wouldn't want to be seen crying, _would you_?"

James winced, almost seeing Vernon's face looking at Harry and seeing through the lie. Vernon's suspicions were up, James just knew it. Any second now, Vernon would push Harry out of the way, see an empty bedroom, and go on a murderous rampage. Or worse, be waiting for them when they were forced to come crawling back.

But apparently Vernon had an ounce of understanding, after all. "Yes, well, I can see that. Just keep it down! What am I supposed to tell the Masons? You are not supposed to exist!"

"Uhm… well… Dudley does have a telly, sir. Say he left it on, and that a violent scene on some show popped up."

"Yes… that's brilliant. Now be quiet!"

With a bang, Harry's door slammed shut. He appeared over the window, and looked down at James. Holding his index finger and thumb in a circle, he mouthed, "Okay!" James returned to the porch in time to hear Vernon laughing the incident off.

"Dudley left his television on in his bedroom, the little tyke! So, _so_ sorry about the disturbance."

"That's quite alright, Mr. Dursley," Mr. Mason politely said. "Now, about the drills-"

"Have I told you my Japanese golfer joke, yet?"

"Dude, Uncle Vernon's blowing it!" Brian snickered. Mrs. Mason's powers of enchantment obviously wore off whenever she was out of sight.

"Yeah, well, we're just gonna have to seal the deal, now aren't we?" James replied with a grin.

Straightening his tie, James turned the bronze handle of the front door and, as loud as he could, walked in. Travis and Brian behind him, he all but thundered into the main hallway and reveled in the surprised din coming from the dining room. "Uncle Vernon? Aunt Petunia? We're home! Sorry we're late, but the money you gave us to get to the parole office wasn't enough for the trip back, so we had to walk."

* * *

James Ignotus Potter sighed as he sat on the small pillow. The small table held a small burner, which wafted up tuffs of smoking incense. The candle lamps softly lit the blood red room, making the walls look darker than they really were, something the old man in front of him said helped his eyes.

"No."

"But Dumble-"

"I said no, and you'll tell Albus I said no," the ancient Japanese wizard cut James' rebuttal off. "I'm done with all this dark wizard business. Just because he can't learn to let go, to step aside, doesn't mean he can pull me out of my retirement."

A young, pretty witch in a silky, shimmering orange kimono walked forth and refilled their tea cups. She smiled shyly at James, something he was getting used to. Wizarding Japan was very much like the old muggle Japan, cut off and isolationist. His usual handsome features, while nothing special in Britain, were exaggerated and considered exotic to the women of Japan, who never saw a man outside of their own nationality.

James smiled back at her conservatively, but to her it could just as well have been like seeing him naked. She blushed and scurried away, her white face turning almost as red as the walls. James sighed as he leaned back slightly, rubbing his face. This trip had not turned out the way it was supposed to. It had taken almost a month just to find the old man Dumbledore wanted as his new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. And now that he, Lily, and Sirius had actually found him, he was being stubborn.

"Hogwarts hasn't had a proper D.A.D.A teacher in years, Akimitsu-sensei. That school goes through them like a fat man in a pastry shop."

"Colorful though your metaphor is, Potter-kun, my answer remains the same. The last time I trained a student, he turned into a sociopathic, alcoholic madman. And the one before that… well, you understand why I'm content with staying here, at my ranch. Midoriyama is a fine mountain, wouldn't you agree?"

James stared at the old warrior wizard with frustration. "Yes, the locale is very nice, Akimitsu. But the fact remains that you were one of the very best sennin-tsuwamono of your time, and the greatest teacher of all time."

"Was and was, Mr. Potter," Akimitsu Inokuma corrected, pointing a long, slender finger at James. His dark eyes flashed with what looked like years of pain and regret, and his short-bearded jaw set itself. "I'm just an old man now, and that's what I'll be until the spirits take their vengeance upon my transgression on man."

"But you have done nothing wrong!"

"I was responsible for teaching Kieran Kennedy. I was responsible for… _him_. They turned the world upside down with my training, and I gave them the tools to do it. I am just as much to blame for their crimes as they are. Now, tell Albus that my answer is a very definite, unwavering, _no._"

* * *

_**Angsty James is... angsty. **_


	3. Random Moments: Harry, Meet Dobby!

"Aunt Petunia, we're home! Sorry we're late; we'll just go straight to bed!" Harry hollered as he ran up the stairs, making sure to make as much extra noise.

"Okay. Make no noise!" Harry's aunt's terse reply came. Harry caught a glimpse of her as he ran up the stairs. She was putting the finishing touches on a large bowl of pudding, almost a masterpiece of whipped cream and violets. She didn't even bother to actually acknowledge his presence, which worked to his favor.

Harry threw his door open and slammed it shut. While he and Brian shared Dudley's "broken toy" room, all four of them used it to store their clothes in, as the tea cupboard barely held James and the oversized Travis. Dashing through crinkled trash bags and trunks, Harry quickly found all the necessary dress clothes except James' tie, Travis' leather dress shoes, and Brian's only dinner-party acceptable shirt.

Harry opened the window and tossed down what he had found, and went back to tearing up the room. Bags and socks and various forms of underwear went flying as Harry rifled through piles of dirty laundry and snapped plastic action figures. With a heave, Harry was able to shift Dudley's old broken DOS computer off the dresser, and sighed in relief as he lowered it to the floor quietly. Underneath it, he had found James' fish-shaped dress tie, still wrapped around Brian's black button-down shirt.

Questioning why the two articles were linked, he threw them out of the window as well.

"Hey, that's where my fish tie went!" he heard James mutter, and ignored the two bickering brothers as they nit picked over why Brian even wore it in the first place.

"Harry!" Travis whispered loudly, his voice sounding grainy with the effort. "I need my shoes!"

"Gimme a minute!" was Harry's reply.

Tearing for the closet, Harry kicked a battered and dirty G.I. Joe doll out of the collapsible door and threw it open. At the bottom, buried under a massive heap of American heavy metal band t-shirts, was Travis' slightly scuffed shoes. Harry tossed them out the window without second thought, and took a look around the room.

"Merlin's beard," he whispered, taking the sight in.

The room was a mess. In less than the month they had spent at Privet Drive, they had already assimilated themselves into it, and turned it from Dudley's broken toy hospital into a full blown Ground Zero. Heaps of dirty laundry(Aunt Petunia sparsely did theirs, and wouldn't let James do it) was piled on top of neglected old toys, in corners, and around the furniture. Trash was strewn in between, all Kleenex and pizza boxes and take-out food bags. The only clear part of the floor was the narrow walkways in between piles of smelly clothes and furniture.

Harry sighed, thinking of how much of a mess it would be to pack once they left. If the Dursley's let them leave, after what James' prank would entail. If he was most pranksters, he would just show up, and then marvel at how stupid Uncle Vernon would look. But James wasn't any other troublemaker. He was James Dean Potter, and he would make the most out of the opportunity the Dursley's had given him. Harry thought with a dry laugh of how the Dursleys could have avoided James' wrath. If they had just included them into the fold, asked them not to make a fool out of him, then no one's future would have been harmed. But Vernon had to lock them away, as if they were lepers. James would make him pay for it.

Feeling assured that a certain high level of vengeance would be taken on his hated relatives, Harry flung himself on the shared bed and almost flew out the window. Something, or rather, _someone_, was already there, judging by the warm lump under his stomach and the high pitched squeal that let it out. Harry missed the window by a few feet, thankfully, and gladly accepted landing on the trashy floor.

"What the heck?"

…


	4. Chapter 4: Pranks and House Elves

Hey hey hey, guys! Long time no see! I'm sorry to say that due to extenuating circumstances, I can't continue the story. I have, however, enlisted a newbie to the community to further my cause! I'll be keeping up my old contacts and all, but I don't have the time to continue updating in a manner that is befitting your standards, so... I guess that's that. I'd like to personally thank all of you who have read, reviewed, and added this story to their "favorites," you guys were the ones who REALLY kept this thing going, especially Clare-stovold, forevermagic, Master Solo, Benperez31, november21, Silver Sailor Ganymede, Reyrayankar, and Heart of the Phoenix. You guys made this worth it. :D

Recommended Listening: Symphony of Destruction

Artist: Megadeth

Album: Countdown to Extinction

I was kinda stuck between something eloquent and gesturing, or something awesome to be my parting "Recommended Listening." But then I saw Master Solo's old reviews on the first Twins Potter, and was like... "She'd totally appreciate the awesome gesture." So, Megadeth. Jimmy Dean likes them, and so should you. :P Haha, anyway, You're awesome, 'Solo.

Without further ado, I give you the new skipper...

Hey, I'm , and I'm going to be writing this now because I said okay when AndyS asked me to....okay, I can't do introductions. Hi, here. I think it might be best to just read on, rather than look at this fail of an authors note. So here you go!

(P.S.- Don't listen to her, she's just modest! SALUTE!)

* * *

A stone hit the window. "Harry!" James hissed from outside.

Harry stuck his head out of the window to reply. "Two seconds!" _Thump. _The lump that had been in the bed fell out, and Harry, glancing back, instantly recognised it as a house elf. "What-"

"James Dean Potter and-" Harry clamped a hand over the house elf's mouth. Its bulbous eyes bugged out even more, and he noticed it was merely dressed in a filthy tea-towel.

"I'm having problems!" he whispered. "There's a-"

"I don't care what's up there! Just get it under control, now!" James hissed.

_Easier said than done!_ Harry thought sourly, accidentally releasing the house elf, which writhed away from him.

"Harry Potter and James Dean Potter must not return to Hogwarts! Must not!" the house elf hissed. "Must not! Stay at home! Must not return to Hogwarts!" It Disapparated with a loud crack. Harry froze, knowing that the sound would bring Vernon running.

"Shoot, shoot, shoot," he muttered, hearing Vernon pound up the stairs. "Need an excuse, need an excuse...um....uh..." Vernon hammered on the door, and Harry cracked it open.

"What the devil are you doing?" he demanded, attempting to shove the door open.

"Uh, uh...um, er..." _Think, you idiot, think! _"Travis...fell out of bed, sir. It won't happen again, Uncle Vernon."

"What! Let me in there, let me see!" he hissed, trying to barrel his way into the room.

"No, no!" _Keep him out, keep him out!_"Uh… um… he doesn't want to be seen, now. He's been crying a lot and...Er…you know… 'Boys will be boys,' you wouldn't want to be seen crying, _would you_?" Vernon's neck bulged over his collar, and his face was twisted with suspicion.

"Yes, well, I can see that. Just keep it down! What am I supposed to tell the Masons? You are not supposed to exist!" Vernon ranted, panicky.

"Um....Dudley does have a telly, sir. Say he left it on, and that a violent scene on some show popped up." It seemed to work, and Vernon retreated from the bedroom, standing in the hall. He looked utterly ridiculous in his dinner jacket and smart trousers, his neck straining against the collar and his trousers strained at the seams. Harry tried not to snort.

"Yes… that's brilliant. Now be quiet!" Vernon slammed the door shut, and Harry leapt backwards. His fingers had come within an inch of crushed. He sighed in relief, hearing Vernon clatter down the stairs. Disaster had been averted – but only just.

He turned back to his bed, his mind turning back to the house elf that had been in his room. Why on earth had it been at Number 4, Privet Drive? It was possibly the least magical house he knew of. Admittedly, he hadn't been to any other muggle houses, but he couldn't imagine anywhere less magical than the Dursley's.

* * *

"So sorry we're late, Uncle Vern," James said, putting on a ridiculously posh British accent for the purposes of the prank. _Merlin, is it really that easy to put on a British accent? Dang, I've been spending too much time in this place._

"Yes, so very sorry. The meal looks most spiffing, don't you think, Brian?" Travis tried to copy James' accent unsuccessfully.

"But Aunt Pettie, this roast is delicious!" James exclaimed, popping a piece of Petunia's roast off Mr. Mason's plate and into his mouth. James smiled brightly at Vernon. It looked completely realistic to anyone that didn't know James very well – such as the Masons - but totally fake to anyone who did - such as Vernon. "And there was me thinking we weren't going to be doing my birthday!"

"Birthday?" Petunia echoed, confused.

"It's your birthday?" Mrs. Mason queried, so surprised by their sudden appearance that she was only slightly appalled by James, who had continued eating Mr. Mason's roast.

"Yes, it's my birthday. And my twin's, of course. It's strange it falls on the day of our parole hearing, don't you think?" James continued conversationally, but placing particular emphasis on the word parole.

"Parole?" echoed Petunia weakly.

"So these are your... nephews, Vernon?" Mr. Mason asked, wary of the three boys that had entered but determined to be polite.

"N-" Vernon started, but James cut in.

"Yes, we are! Aunt Pettie is Mum's sister," James explained. _Should I have said Mother instead of Mum? Oh well, too late now._"We live with Uncle Vern and Aunt Pettie because Mum and Dad...well, they were a bit naughty," he winked, "so they had to go to prison for a bit." _Keep up the accent, keep up the accent._

"Three months ago, wasn't it, James?" Brian piped up from the doorway.

"Yeah," _Dang, slip of the tongue! Posh accent, posh accent!_"And the four of us have been at school in Dorset since."

"Four? I only see three...." Mrs. Mason said, her eyes moving from Brian, still standing by the door, to Travis, who was kneeling by Dudley and picking bits of food off his plate, before coming to finally rest on James who smiled brightly at her. Perhaps a little _too_ brightly...

"Oh, my twin's upstairs. I'll just go get him." James went into the hall and yelled up the stairs. "Harry! Come on down!"

"So, were you four at Bryanstone then?" Mr. Mason asked. "My old school, you know." He added to Vernon.

"Uh, no. We go to Weymouth College." James said, thinking up a school on the spot.

"Ah, we played rugby against them many times! And we always won, of course." Mr. Mason said jovially.

"Well, I can assure you-" James started, only to be interrupted by Harry clattering down the stairs.

"Hi, everybody!" Harry announced to the room at large. He then noticed Mrs. Mason. "Uh...." his voice trailed off, and he stared raptly at Mrs. Mason.

"_Ahem_. Hello Harry," said Petunia, who looked like she was sucking on a lemon. Harry shook himself, suddenly waking from his trance. He blushed deeply and looked at his feet, shooting occasional glances at Mrs. Mason, who looked slightly disconcerted.

"Harry! We were just saying how we were down at school in Dorset, _weren't we_, Travis, Brian?" James announced loudly, drawing Mr. Mason's attention away from Harry, whom he had been scrutinising intently.

"Oh, um, yeah!" Travis burst out.

"It must be so _awful _being away from your aunt and uncle!" Mrs. Mason crooned, glancing at Harry before her attention returned to James. James blushed, a deep pink flush spreading across his cheeks.

"Well we miss them terribly, of course, but we're quite good at distracting ourselves. Although the police might say we were _too_ good" James smirked.

"Yeah." Travis grunted, almost as if he was trying too hard to be cool.

"But anyway. This is a great birthday surprise!" James continued, pseudo-happily.

"A birthday surprise? But Vernon, wasn't this supposed to be...." Mr. Mason turned to face Vernon, confusion easily readable on his face.

"No it is, Derrick, it is. We're doing something tomorrow for the boys." Vernon said, shooting James a furious glare. If looks could kill, he would have been flat out on the floor.

"But Uncle Vern, _you_ said that we couldn't do anything for our birthday this year!" James accused. "Because _you _said the dinner party would cost too much! You _lied_!"

"Now, James, no need to cause a scene!" Petunia protested.

Mrs. Mason turned to her husband. "You know, Derrick, it really is awful to have your birthday disrupted when you're young. We will celebrate their birthday, _won't _we?"

Mr. Mason got his wife's point look. Ever the hen-pecked husband, he conformed to his wife's expectations. "Yes dear, of course. Business can always wait for another day, _can't_ it, Vernon?"

James smiled evilly at 'Uncle Vern', who seemed to be trying to control his temper.

"Of course. Yes, I'm sure we can arrange to have you around some other time." He said through gritted teeth. "Now, Dudley can show you out." He tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace.

* * *

"A rather dysfunctional family, don't you think, Derrick?" Mrs. Mason said as she climbed into the car.

"Yes, I do agree. I'm not sure we'll be doing business with them. Although the meal was most delicious, you must admit..." his voice trailed off dreamily.

"Yes, well. Did you hear those boys saying they were on _parole_? I wonder what they must have done. They seemed so sweet, although I don't think they were on the best of terms with their uncle. What was his name again? Vernon?"

Mr. Mason snorted. "Well, I must say I am quite glad to see the back of that house. No, definitely not doing business there. And yes, the man was called Vernon. A most conceited individual, don't you think?"

"Oh, I do agree. Yes, I really do agree."

* * *

"_What _did you think you were doing, ruining the dinner party like that?" Vernon shouted, striding around the kitchen with all four boys lined up in front of him, as if they were on parade. "You have ruined _everything_!"

"And I didn't even get to show them the pudding!" Aunt Petunia cried, flourishing her hands at the mountain of whipped cream and violets.

Vernon ranted on for the next half an hour. Finally, he finished his angry tirade. "Go to your rooms! _Now_!" The four boys gladly sprinted up the stairs, thankful to get away from Vernon and his bright red, wobbling face.

James lounged on Harry's bed. "When exactly are Mum and Dad getting home again?"

"Too long to think about, dude. Too long to think about." Travis said softly.

* * *

So, my first chapter for this. I....hope you like it?


	5. Chapter 5: Revenge of the Pranksters

Hey, it's me again. The noob quit on me, so I'm back to writing this. Quality assurance policy in affect! Read one chapter, review another four for free! Insanity at its prime! INSANITY!

But yeah, its me, Andrew! And I'm back in the saddle with writing this fic, so... yay me?

**Recommended** **Listening**: _Gives You Hell_

**Artist**: All-American Rejects

**Album**: The Real World

* * *

Three days went by, and with each passing day Uncle Vernon's punishment grew worse. At first he had simply grounded the boys for their little (at least in James' eyes) prank. He locked the lot of them up in the spare bedroom upstairs which Harry and Brian had originally shared. But by day two his anger had yet to abate, and, in fact, he had only gotten surlier. It wasn't long before the metal bars went over the windows to prevent an escape. It wasn't much longer after that, that the doggy flap was installed into the bedroom door, with naught but three bowls of muddy soup broth a day to sustain the four brothers.

James, being the fearless leader that he was, made Harry slurp the most of it, Travis and Brian not far behind. They tried to push him into taking a whole bowl for dinner, but he stubbornly declined each time. His stomach grumbled and his body started to get weak, but hell hath no fury like a determined James Dean Potter.

Long hours spent sitting on the floor, playing Simon-Says and Eye-Spy turned into nights sharing a bed or piled laundry with sock-stuffed shirts as pillows. They had started cleaning out of sheer boredom at one point, organizing Dudley's old broken toys along one wall, the dirty laundry on the next, and a large area of floor in the center of the room for a computer repair center. James marveled at how many computers Dudley had gone through, and was even more astonished by how many his pig-and-horse parents continued to buy him.

"Was it red-red-green, or red-green-red?" James asked over a small screwdriver behind his teeth.

"And he's our tech expert?" Travis scoffed from the bed, reading the same Vogue UK magazine for the fifth time. "It amazes me how many pages they put in this thing that are just advertisement. I mean, come on."

"Welcome to the world of girls," Harry muttered from his and Brian's shared perch on the window sill. "I wish I could talk to Ron."

"I wish I could talk to his mom," James grunted as he yanked a wire from the motherboard. "From what he's told me, she's one helluva cook, and not shy about forcing seconds down your mouth."

"You wouldn't be so hungry if you just accepted some chow when Aunt Petunia drops it in the room," Brian chided as he strummed his guitar, tuning it.

"Speaking of chow," Travis perked up. "It's about time for lunch!"

With a clamber, Travis, Harry and Brian crowded the dog flap and anxiously stared at it. James shook his head and looked back at what he was doing. The computer tower's casing had taken a brutal thrashing when Dudley broke it. Apparently he had been playing some sci-fi flight simulator game when his spaceship was destroyed. The ensuing temper tantrum had resulted in a shattered floppy drive and a cracked CPU. The memory cards and hard drive was salvageable, and with an intact Mac monitor, another tower, and a working motherboard, James would have the cobbled computer put together by sundown.

"Hey there wittle freak pigs," Dudley's voice shrilled through the door. "Mum had me bring you up your lunch, and I took the liberty to add a few _special_ ingredients!"

James looked up in time to see the deep rimmed ceramic bowl fly in through the flap, spilling much of its contents on the floor.

"Oh, sick!" Harry gasped as he dove away from the soup. "Sick!"

"As if this wasn't cruel and unusual already!" Travis pushed off the floor and stalked back to the bed.

Brian stared at the bowl in dejection, as if he was about to cry. James crawled over and looked down. "What is it?"

Inside the murky, half cold chicken broth was a loogey bigger than a chocolate frog. An old band-aid floated near the bottom, crusted old brown blood stained to its pad. A cotton swab with a generous amount of earwax circled pitifully around the top while toe nail clippings scoured the bottom.

"That is just wrong," James said in a bland, emotionless voice. Brian sobbed once, and James patted his brother on the back consolingly before resuming his work on the computer. No use getting mad over spilt milk."

"That was our food, man."

"Yeah, well, we'll have plenty when Mom and Dad get here, and so no matter how horribly we've been treated," James laughed quietly through nose for a second before adding on, "It could be worse."

"Oh really," Brian questioned with a raised eyebrow. "How so?"

"He could embarrass us in front of cute girls."

…

Cassandra Grey knocked on the front door of Number Four, Privet Drive and turned to her Spanish best friend, Camilla Santiago, with a giggle. "Think they'll play?"

"Of course," Camilla answered with a thick Spanish accent. "'H'ames _loved_ soccer when we were teaching it to him!"

"James, Cam, James. Not 'Hoc-Ames. And of course he did. We're _girls_."

"Si, si, just get him out here!"

"Well, call me a ninnie!" The blonde girl giggled as she knocked on the front door again, a little harder. "You fancy him!"

"I what? No, no, I don't! He's- he's-"

"A really cute boy?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"With really brilliant green eyes?"

"Si, but Harry has-"

"And a wild, but sweet personality?"

"Yes, but he's-"

"Got a cute, round bum?"

"Yeah! Wait- what?"

* * *

"Harry, what's a bum?" Brian quietly asked Harry as the two spied on the two girls standing outside.

"Your butt."

"Oh," Brian stated dumbly. "So she has a thing for James' butt?"

"Yes, I guess."

"Man, girls are weird."

"Tell me about it," Travis piped in.

"Who's talking about my butt, and what are you buttheads whispering about?" Harry and Brian gulped as they looked up at James. He wasn't going to be happy to see this...

* * *

The door flew open, and the girls were faced with a frightening man with a puce-purple face and an angry expression. "Who the ruddy hell are you?"

"Um… uh… I'm Cass-Cassandra? Are James and Harry here? W-we were wondering if h-he could play-"

"Absolutely not! He's not here! Go away!"

"What? Not here? This is Number Four, Privet Drive, isn't it?" Cassandra asked quizzically. She almost dropped her soccer ball from shock, and Camilla had to catch it.

"Yes, but he's gone!" the man barked, making to shut the door.

"Gone?" Camilla asked. "Gone where?"

"He's- dead. Yes, dead. Auto accident, very terrible. Now leave before I call the constable!"

* * *

"Dead?" Travis asked stupidly. "Is that the best he could come up with?"

"Dead? Dead!" James screeched, finally showing emotion. "He's like a date-blocking robot developed by the SAS to personally ensure my maximum suffering! I hate _him_! He's going to pay for this. He must pay!"

James started pacing the room haughtily, but with a tinge of noticeable rage. He put his index fingers to his lips, pursed them and let his hands fall to his sides, and repeated the gesture. After three minutes of doing so, he finally screamed randomly and punched the closest wall as hard as he could, his brothers watching as he did so. They were scared, and he knew it.

An angry James was a dangerous one. Travis started nodding, as if some telepathic link had grown between them. James met his best friend's gaze and grinned like an evil maniac. Brian and Harry watched the exchange with worried expressions.

"What are you two planning?" they asked at the same time.

All James and Travis did was laugh. They laughed, and laughed, and laughed…

* * *

Wackie the House Elf was a good house elf. Well, most of the time. The other, "not most" of the time he was being enlisted by his Master James to pull of some prank or another, and Wackie was more than happy to help. Spending relentless hours cleaning the nation's biggest mansion got tiring and boring after a while, you know. And with the four boys gone for so long, Potter Manor got real boring, real quick.

So when he felt the tug, the silent allure every house elf felt when one of their Masters' calls for them, he answered the call as wholeheartedly as he could (nothing more than a lazy, bored snap of his fingers.) Officially, he was not supposed to answer any call Master James had until Master James and Mistress Lily came home from their business for Dumbledore. But officially Wackie was sick and tired of listening to Yackie bark orders from his kitchen. Wackie was fed up with listening to his sister Jackie prattle on about "horrendous muggle fashion."

And Wackie was really, really tired of sweeping the same floors every single day.

* * *

With a quiet, short pop, Wackie the House Elf appeared before James Dean with a bow and flick of his tiny bowler hat. James smiled down at his favorite servant, taking in the immaculate butler tux and tight drawn bow tie. Neatly trimmed hair poked out his knife shaped ears and a bored, sedate expression sat on his smooth, gray face.

"Wackie," James said with a grin.

"Master James," Wackie replied plainly.

"How has your summer been?"

"Boring, Master James. Without the four Masters at home, Wackie has been most unentertained. Not to mention overworked."

James smiled wide at Wackie's complaint. Yackie would have had a heart attack if he heard his younger brother speak so bluntly, but James had always encouraged it. Wackie was never a servant to him. The little humanoid creature was, in a way, a little friend. He never backed down from being a co-conspirator with James, Brian and Travis, and his magical abilities had come in handy many times.

Most notably in their escape attempts.

"I have a list of, erm… duties for you to attend to. You up for some leg work?"

"Of course, Master James."

"Quit calling me that, Wackie."

"Wackie apologizes, Master James."

James' forehead hit his palm with a slap. You could take the House Elf out the servant quarters, but you couldn't take all of the servant out of the House Elf, he guessed. "It's cool, Wack. Now, we are short on time, so let me get down to the dirt."

James held up a list of "chores" for Wackie. "Now, Aunt Petunia always has dinner ready by six-thirty. And since it's Friday, it'll be Dessert Night. On tonight's menu, we have roasted duckling with roasted potatoes and carrots. Aunt Petunia keeps her spices in the fourth cupboard from the left on the northern side of the kitchen. You'll put the 'special ingredient' in the marinade. Then, you'll put the _other_ special ingredient in the tiramisu. Savvy so far?"

Wackie nodded off-handedly, looking at the list intently with his big, green eyes.

"Good. Now, when they are all good and riled from their special dessert, you're going to add some liquid dish soap into Petunia's new dish washer."

"Liquid soap? Dish washer?"

"Yes, Wack. It's a muggle invention that automatically washes their dinnerware for them, so they don't have to. And it can't take regular dish soap, 'cause it does something bad."

"How bad?" Wackie asked blankly, but with just a tinge of excitement under toning his voice.

"Bubbly bad."

"So when the Master's family is done getting 'riled up,' the woman will do dishes for Wackie? With a washer?"

James nodded condescendingly. "Yep. You won't even have to lift one spellbound finger."

"Most intriguing. And it will be disastrous."

"Oh yeah. And you need to deliver this letter to Professor Dumbledore once you are done having your share of the fun. That way he can get Mom and Dad back to get us outta here."

"Of course, Master James. Wackie delivers it personally, Master James."

"Good. And remember- no magic, and no one can see you. Right?"

"Yes, Master James."

"Good. Now, get to work, at your leisure."

The House Elf bowed at the waist, tipped his hat again, and disapperated with another pop. Travis regarded James with a look of amusement.

"You think this'll work?"

"It's Wackie," was James' only answer. Brian nodded in agreement, and Harry shrugged.

Travis nodded and plopped down on the bed, sifting through the Vogue again. Harry sat by James as he started tinkering with the computer again as Brian picked up the guitar and started playing a random medley. The quad stayed that way for an hour or so, no words spoken, no noise made.

It was all calm and serene, with the occasional clack of James' tools tapping the computer and Brian's random measures. The magazine proved to be too much for Travis, so he wordlessly tossed it aside and started doing pushups on the floor.

The peace was broken once Petunia called Dudley and Vernon for dinner. The four boys all paused, frozen in place. For the longest time, neither of them so much as breathed as they listened intently to the affair that was about to unfold down stairs.

A popping sound outside the bedroom door burst the tense bubble and made Brian drop his guitar. Wackie, it seemed, wasn't at all disturbed by their plight, as he padded down the hallway and opened the bathroom door with a slight squeak. James held back a laugh as he padded back, and popped away.

About that time the bustle hit the dinner table. "What the devil-" Vernon started. "Why does this duck taste sweet, Pertunia?"

Aunt petunia's remark was muffled, as her voice didn't carry like Vernon's. Dudley said something else in a quiet voice, which was out of character for him as he was usually louder than his porky father. Vernon kept up his tirade.

"Well, we will just have to eat it, anyways. Money is going to be tight since that deal with Mr. Mason…"

James led his brothers in a collective snicker. He patted Travis and Brian on their backs and nudged Harry, winking. He had been hoping to hear how things went the drilling contract, and it seemed to him that this was good news.

"…The freaks will just have to be cut back, is all."

"Wait, what?" Brian asked, confused.

"As punishment. I'm sure they did this, somehow," Vernon elaborated obnoxiously. "Bunch of freaks, they are. I'm sure their parents had something to do with it, as well. I never did like how that man they call a father looked at me. Gave me the whoopsies."

"Whoopsies?" Travis scoffed. "That is so…. Lame."

"Dad?" Brian snorted. "Look at him wrong? Nah," he continued sarcastically.

"He only hates your guts, fat pig," Harry cursed under his breath.

"Shh," James hushed. "They're almost done with dinner."

The rest of the dinner was spent with Vernon babbling on about boring old drills, how he wished he could "properly punish those freaks," and what he really thought about Mr. Mason. Something along the lines of an overpaid, pompous git who needed to pay a servant to tie his shoe strings. The four had a laugh at that, seeing how Vernon was so pot-bellied that he needed Petunia to slip on his loafers on a good day.

"Petunia! What are we having for dessert?"

"Tiramisu with whipped cream, Vernon."

"Ah, good! Cut me a slice, chop! I adore French crème."

"I thought tiramisu was Italian?"

"I said hush!" James cut off Brian as he pushed his ear to the door. Vernon kept on talking, with a few muffled replies from Petunia and a belch here and there from Dudley. Dessert didn't last long, and James knew the next phase of the prank wouldn't take long to go into effect. In fact, it would be starting in right about…

"Oh, dear!" Petunia gasped.

"Wha- what is going on, Mum!"

"I think I need the loo," Vernon bellowed, running up the stairs. James worried that they might break under the combined weight of Dudley and Vernon running up them.

"But I need it more!" Dudley whined and wheezed as he clambered up after his father.

"You can have the- er… bath tub!"

"But-"

"No buts!"

"More like no butts," Brian choked over a giggle.

"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," Petunia whimpered as she herself came up the stairs. The boys snickered at the worried clack-clack-clack her heels made as she paced outside the bathroom door. "What about me, boys? Would you please hurry?"

"Go somewhere else!" Vernon barked. "This is going to take a while!"

"Oh dear," Petunia sobbed again, her heels clacking down the stairs hurriedly.

Suddenly, there was a booming on the front door, and Travis ran to the window. "Dude, it's the fuzz!"

James, Brian and Harry rushed to the window as well, and sure enough, the local sergeant and two constables of Little Whinging stood outside the front door, in full uniform. The sergeant pounded his fist on the door again, looking impatient.

"Vernon Dursley! This is Sergeant Fuller of Little Whinging Police Department! Open up, we wish to speak with you about an incident from this afternoon! Harassment of under-age children is against the law!"

"Oh God," Brian cried, barely containing his laughter. "This just keeps getting better!"

James fell off the window sill, he was laughing so hard. And when Petunia answered the front door with her legs crossed and her knees bent, chewing her horse-like lower lip as sweat fell from her brow, Travis, Brian and Harry joined him.

"What are you lot laughing at?" a familiar voice asked, and James took pause.

"Travis, why did it sound like Ron Weasley just asked me something?

"Probably because he just did," Travis answered, looking over at the second window with the biggest smile on his face. "And he's flying a car!"

"What?" James screeched as he rolled himself off his back and on his stomach. Sure enough, Ron Weasley kneeled out of the passenger door of a battered old Ford Anglia. His long nose had a smudge of dirt on it, and his flaming red hair was tussled. But his bright blue eyes shown with excitement, and before he could say anything his twin older brothers Fred and George popped into view with equal grins.

"Hiya Harry!"

"All right James? Brian, Travis?"

"Ron!" Harry exclaimed.

"Dudes!" James, Brian and Travis chorused after. "You're here to save us!"

"Of course we are," one of the twins replied.

"It's what we do!" the other joined. "Save our mates when they're in the frying pan."

* * *

a/n- I'm going to take the time to avert your attentions away from thisfic and to my others. If that isn't much trouble? No? Okay, good. Go to my profile. Read my two Harry Potter oneshots, and my "Eight Simple Rules to Dating Ginny Weasley." Review them. Knndly. I'll be updating 8 Rules soon!

While you're at it, read my two Star Wars one shots, if you're into that. They're from my earlier time as a writer, so don't grill me or anything. Got it?

Good. I know ONE of you is going to like them, not to mention names *cough-Solo-cough*


	6. Chapter 6: The Burrowbleck

This chapter is short, bittersweet, not very well written, and un-beta'd. Just how I like 'em!

_**Not...**_

**Recommended Listening: **The Science of Selling Yourself Short

**Artist:** Less Than Jake

**Album**: Anthem

* * *

The Flight of the Ford Anglia was the most spectacular thing James had ever experienced. Invisible, no one could have seen the small, compact car soaring overhead, and the inky night sky just furthered the effect. He had watched as the lights on the ground sailed by until dawn, as they passed over the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. When they finally touched ground, the sun had mostly risen over the horizon and casted the world in gold and red light. A new day, and a new place; James smiled at the new start to his summer.

He knew things were going to be better. James didn't even want to think about what his parents would do when they found out about what happened back on Privet Drive, but somehow he just knew it was going to be okay. The Burrow, he was sure, had filled him with a kind of quiet, solid surety that it would.

As soon as he laid eyes on the rickety looking building the Weasley's called home, he fell in love with it. It had four or five stories to it, though James couldn't have been sure. It looked like a wooden pig pen or chicken coop had formerly been a part of its ground floor, and an attached brick dwelling had been built into it. The next two stories shot up from it with narrow, claustrophobic certainty. Another section was grafted to the middle story, and shot up again. It was held up by criss-crossing beams staked into the earth at jarringly odd angles.

Patchwork had been nailed up all across the siding, and five or six chimneys ascended from the multiple roofs at random intervals. Windows were strewn about just as carelessly, as if the whole home had been assembled by virtue of a mixing bag. A small pen of goats were enclosed by the front door, or at least what James figured was the front. They bah'ed at the seven boys as the walked in from the garage.

"Jesus," Travis breathed. "How does this place stay in one piece?"

"Magic," Fred whispered with a wink. "Now if we can just walk in quietly, we can sneak up to bed before Mum-"

"Before Mum what?" A shrill, angry voice pierced from beyond the front door. Fred, George, and Ron all froze in place as the door opened to reveal a squat, pleasantly plump women of upper middle age, with frumpy, bobbed orange hair and an angry expression on her round face that wholly looked it etched there permanently. James recognized her immediately; Mrs. Weasley. Any grown, sane man wouldn't have thought twice about being scared by such an intimidating face, as terrifying as it was.

Naturally, James got the hell scared out of him.

"What the blazes do you three think you were doing?"

"Um…"

"Uh…"

"James and Harry-"

"What? James and Harry needed to be rescued from his own family?"

"Well, actually," Brian piped in, unabashed, "Yeah. They kinda locked us up. They didn't even feed us."

The angry look on her face disappeared, and was replaced instantaneously with a horrified, motherly look. She immediately grabbed James and Harry and all but hauled them inside, crooning, "You poor dears! You must be starving!"

James looked back to see Travis and Brian share a dark expression of jealousy. "And what are we," Travis asked pseudo-sweetly. "The main entrée?"

* * *

**One Week Later**

Out of the frying pan, into the freezer. James knew Mrs. Weasley's icy glare hadn't been directed at him or Harry, but at Fred, George, and Ron, but he still felt the chill of her hard stare down to his bones. And what was worse was that she had completely welcomed James, Harry, Brian and Travis warmly. James and the others were as much to blame, and yet she acted like they did nothing wrong. He felt sorry for Ron.

"Oh, hogwash," Molly Weasley told him at the breakfast table. She tut-tuted when they told her why they hadn't written letters to anyone that summer, and she didn't believe them. After all, why would some stranger house-elf mettle with a noble wizarding family, much less one in the _Muggle_ world?

Ron, Fred and George believed them. George muttered that Dobby probably was put up to it by Malfoy or one of his Slytherin gang. James agreed; it sounded like something he would do. But at the same time, Harry had appeared to have reservations he wasn't voicing. James hadn't known his blood twin as long as he should have, but Harry wasn't hard to read. Harry was thinking something else was in the picture.

James quickly forgot about it. The week after arriving at the Burrow was what his summer should have been; sweating his skin dry playing backyard quidditch, teaching Ron, Fred and George American football(hand egg, as he had dubbed it,) antagonizing Ginny, the youngest and only Weasley daughter(she had a killer crush on Harry,) and de-gnoming the Burrow's yard. Travis was really coming into his own on a broomstick, with help from Fred and George. Brian sat in the garden and strummed his trusty, old, beaten guitar while studying Mrs. Weasley's old musical theory books.

The week of heaven quickly shattered when James Sr., Lily, and Sirius came back. It was on a sunny, warm, late afternoon while Fred and George were giving Travis lessons on how to play Beater. Harry and James were bumming around, digesting a hearty lunch of ham sandwhiches and a French soup concoction Mrs. Weasley had made, which was called something that James couldn't even start to fathom enunciating. It was good, though.

"No, no, no," Fred preached from his old Cleansweep. "Hold your back up a little more loosely. You have to relax and let your torso balance itself for you. Being tense is going to make you fall off, especially when swinging the bat."

"Right," Travis nodded, gripping a splintered old lacrosse bat in his right hand.

"Untie your legs from the footrests," Harry pitched in from his resting spot by an old elm tree's roots. "Let them, well, _rest_ on the bronze."

Travis quickly snapped his tangled ankles from each other and rested them on the Cleansweep's crescent shaped footrests. As he did, he quickly swerved right and almost face-planted in the dirt. James quickly snorted from his perch on a tall tree branch, above Harry.

"Fred told you to relax, T," he admonished from his branch, stretching out like a cat.

"Shut up."

"…"

"Wow, I didn't mean to-"

"Mom and Dad are here."

Out of the frying pan, into the freezer.

* * *

"What were you thinking!" James screeched as his four sons sat at the dinner table of the Burrow, looking grim. "I can't believe you would allow this to happen! I knew it would come to this, and now they hate us even more! Vernon wants me to pay him because of his lost contract!"

"How was I supposed to know they would be treated like that!" Lily shot back, her voice sounding shrill from the Burrow's living room.

"Oy, here I was thinking _you_ were in trouble," Sirius muttered as he sipped a cup of tea.

"Yeah, me too," James sighed, talking a swig of cold coke. "I just wish they'd realize its no one's fault but the Dursley's."

"They always fight about them," Harry grumbled. "Dad knows they are trash, but Mum just refuses to give up on them."

"Well, I hate to say this about Mom," James started, "But she's a damned fool."

"Watch your mouth," Molly Weasley snapped. "Your mother is an angel. And is it really foolish to try and hold onto the only surviving family she has?"

"Probably, actually," Sirius grunted. "The Dursley's are about as bad as my family."

Molly frowned, but said no more.

"Look, it doesn't matter anymore," Lily muttered quietly. "We are now officially estranged from them now, anyways."

A screech of the wheelchair, a sob, and a choked attempt to hide said sob later, James knew his father was no longer angry. He could almost see his dad kneeling by the chair, holding his mother's hand with one arm, the other around her shoulders.

"Shh," James Sr. hushed.

"Yep," James laughed sadly. "Totally called it."

He knew at that moment that he had played a part in his mother's despair. She had tried, _hard_, to make the Potters click with the Dursleys. And because he couldn't take their punishments just one week more, he had ruined an already strenuous relationship. But still, why did those freaks hate them so much to begin with?

He quickly stood up and walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, Harry not far behind. Their parents were pretty much in the way James had figured they were. Their mother now weeped openly into their father's shoulder as he rubbed hers soothingly. James knew logically that his mother was frail, but he d somehow ignored that fact until now. She had always seemed so strong and resilient. Now she looked as fragile as a teetering porcelain doll. He was shocked to realize he had never noted how thin and skeletal her legs were. Her face, usually lit by a graceful, if not somewhat sad smile, now looked pale and ghastly.

And Dad… Dad looked just as strong as always, if not stronger. James idly wondered, as he and James and Travis and Brian and Sirius knelt and hugged Lily as well, how awful he'd feel if his father looked like his mother did at that moment. He silently pushed the thought from his mind. Because if James Ignotus Potter ever became weak, who else _could _be strong?


	7. Chapter 7: The Battle of the Bookstore?

**Recommended Listening**: Street Fighter(War)

**Artist**: Sick Puppies

**Album**: Tri-Polar

LOVE SICK PUPPIES! GAH!

* * *

Diagon Alley. The mass odd assortment of ramshackle looking shops and buildings where students of Hogwarts could get everything the needed and even more of what they wanted for the upcoming school year. Books, potions ingredients, wands, gold, parchment, quills, ink, sweets, robes, and more was crammed into the wide range of shops lining the narrow, cobblestone streets.

James loved Diagon Alley. The sights, the smells, the hectic atmosphere and narrow walkways reminded him of New York. Diagon Alley wasn't as modern looking, with lopsided wooden buildings and brickyard ground, but it was like a living metaphor. The Alley was odd, crazy, and full of life. New York, below the clean cut exterior, was as well.

As James exited the Leaky Cauldron with his mother, father, brothers, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron and Ginny and Fred and George, he smiled as he took the sights and smells and sounds in. Witches and wizards scampered busily across the brickyard streets, some towing younger children around, carrying bags of school supplies and the like between stores. Certain enterprising souls were lining the outsides of the cobbled buildings selling food, drinks, or "discount merchandise," such as bogus wands that were twice the regular size, or "owls," that were not actually trained, just captured wild ones that screeched and hooted uncomfortably from the cages.

"Okay, we'll split up into groups after the book store," Lily commanded as she wheeled herself down the street. "Let's go, boys!"

Brian and Travis had gotten sidetracked by the bogus wands, laughing as they shook them in the air or banged them against the cart. Brian tried to perform a spell, and ended up turning his hair green. Travis laughed so hard he fell backward, and James Sr. had to wave his own wand over Brian's head to bring it back to the correct color.

"But I liked green hair!" he complained.

"Too bad," James Sr. laughed. "Your mother doesn't."

The walk towards the book store, Flourish and Botts, was just as chirpy. Harry and Ron talked Quidditch with James and Travis, while Brian, who had brought his worn guitar, showed Ginny how to play some chords. James Sr. and Mr. Weasley talked Ministry business while Lily and Mrs. Weasley commented on the shops as they went by.

"Seriously, James," Mr. Weasley growled with passion. "I'm sure if we can just get the search warrant expanded, we could get that git for all he's worth. But no, the Wizengamot just won't let us search his dungeons. That's where he's hiding it all!"

"I'm sorry, Arthur," James Sr. grunted. "I can't push any farther. Minister Fudge isn't allowing anything farther than what he has."

"That's prep- Oh my…"

The bookstore was packed. It seemed like hundreds of people were squished inside the storefront, and flashes of camera bulbs, accompanied by puffs of smoke, trailed out front the panes of glass. A man in periwinkle blue robes with wavy, golden blonde hair was signing books in the center of the store. James Dean swore he could smell cologne from the guy from across the store.

"Did we miss a memo, or something?" James Dean asked. The guy looked like he was celebrity material. Wouldn't the Potters have known somebody like that would have been there?

"Not… _him_," James Sr. growled, clenching his fist. Obviously, he didn't care much for his son's query.

"Behave," Lily commanded, putting her hand on his arm. James Dean didn't miss his mother's blush, though.

"Who's that?" he asked, acting oblivious.

"Gilderoy Lockhart," Harry answered, as their father was too busy growling and their mother too busy staring. "Mum has a crush on him."

"It seems like it's more than a crush," Travis commented with mirth. "It looks to me like these three have a _past_."

"Why do you say that?" Ron asked.

"Look at Dad," James laughed. "He's livid. If it was a simple crush, he'd be a little disgruntled. He's ready to take this guy outside!"

"You," James Sr. breathed, turning around and pointing a stern finger in James Dean's face, "Shut. Your. Mouth."

"Yes sir," James gulped. He may have been a rebel at the best of times, but even James knew better than to cross his father.

"Good. Now go get your books," he handed Harry the list for second years, and Ginny her own list. "Me and your mother have to talk."

"You mean 'your mother and I-"

"Brian?"

"Yessir?"

"I don't need a grammar lesson."

"Sorry, sir."

"Better be…" James vented as he all but shoved Lily down an aisle of books, out of sight of Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Huh…" Ron said, watching as they disappeared behind another bookcase.

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "They're weird like that."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley dragged Ginny off to find her books with her, leaving the five of them on their own. James grabbed a cloth bag and started organizing search parties to find different books.

"Okay, Brian and Ron? Take the first three books on the list, the next one we don't need because we already have it… Travis gets these two and… me and Harry will tackle this laundry list of Lockhart crap."

"Harry and I," Brian corrected.

"Oh, shut up."

Harry led the way to the "Biography" section of the store as the five of them split up. "You do realize that we need five copies each of these books?" Harry asked.

"Yep."

"Okay, just checking. Gee, our new D.A.D.A. professor must be a big Lockhart fan."

"Yep," James replied, looking around the corner.

"What are you looking for?" Harry queried, looking over James' shoulder.

"Him," James muttered, nodding his head at Lockhart. "I know he and Mom have a past. Could you imagine that pretty boy as our dad?"

"Not necessarily," Harry grunted, walking again towards the book aisle. "Can we get our books now?"

"No," James stated sternly, grabbing his twin by the shoulder of his sweater. "Look at the blondie, dude. He's a total fake, I can tell."

"Fake? What do you mean by fake?"

"I dunno, he just seems so… I dunno. Fake."

"He looks fake. That's nice. Books now?"

"Fine, fine," James Dean relented. Following his twin once again he added, "But I think we need to keep an eye on him. I think he saw me, and his face lit up like a Christmas-"

"Well, if it isn't the Potter twins!" a smiling voice boomed, a voice belonging to a certain wavy, blonde haired, blue eyed, periwinkle blue-silk robed, so-white-they-could-blind-you teethed, pompous man named Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Huh?" James asked, acting oblivious. "My name's Neville Longbottom!"

"Oh, no…" Harry sighed. "We're in for it."

"Come on, how bad can a guy be?" James asked. "He's just a celebrity!"

"Just a celebrity, he says!" Lockhart laughed as he clasped the two twins' shoulders in a death lock grip. "My boy, I'm not just a celebrity! I am an honorary member of the Dark Force Defense League, an Order of Merlin, Third Class, and five time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award!"

"That's quite the resume," Harry deadpanned. "You're a real all-star."

"Indeed! I've fought many dark creatures in my time! But I have nothing on you two, for who could have defeated He-Shall-Not-Be-Named at the tender age of one year old!"

As if this proclamation wasn't exactly known, the crowd "ooh'd" and "ahh'd" appropriately. Cameramen snapped pictures left and right as reporters started shooting questions in rapid-fire order. Lockhart lapped it up with a stunning smile and holding the twins closer to his waist, his grip starting to dig into their skin. He tugged James even closer when he tried to escape.

"Now, when these two boys came here, hoping to get their own copies of my recent book, _Magical Me_, the best they were hoping for was just one signed copy! They didn't expect for my next announcement, however! For I, Gilderoy Lockhart, has accepted, by personal invitation, the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

"No!" Harry cursed.

"I have to put up with this simp for another year?" James asked. "Surely God hates us all."

"And because these two came here to see me personally, I am going to give them each their own signed collection of my books! Free of charge!"

Applause rose from the crowd, followed by an even bigger explosion of media frenzy. James scowled as Lockhart clawed his fingers into his shoulder, and didn't fail to notice Harry's dirty glance. _This is all your fault_, the look said perfectly.

"Smile big boys," Lockhart said through smiling teeth. "With the three of us, we're gonna make front page!"

"Oi!" a loud, booming voice sounded from the back of the crowd. James and Harry breathed sighs of relief as their father pushed his way to the front. "Take your grimy hands of my sons!"

"Oh, James," Gilderoy tried to suck up, looking intimidated. "How nice to see you-"

"Hands off or I will have you arrested for harassment! You know better than to drag unwilling children into your publicity stunts!"

"But they weren't-"

"I was very unwilling!" James cried. "Dad, get this creepy dude away from me!"

Lockhart looked at James Dean with a fearful expression. James Sr. just needed an excuse to beat the snot out Lockhart, and James Dean gladly gave it. Sure, it made him look weak and childish, but hey… Whatever works.

"If you so much as take another step towards either of them I will make sure you rot in Azkaban as much as the Ministry will allow me! You understand me?"

"Y-yes!" Lockhart gasped as he and his assistant shoved the two sets of books into the twins' hands. "I'm so sorry, James, I didn't mean too-"

"Yeah, I'm sure you didn't, you worthless sack of dragon dung. You have your books set, boys?"

"Yes sir," Harry and James replied in unison.

"Good. Give them here, and I'll go and find your mother. Wait by the front with your brothers and Ginny. Now."

Harry and James booked it to the front of the store. Lockhart was left sputtering in front of his crowd of adoring fans, and James did not feel sorry for him. It served him right to try and use them as some publicity stunt, even if no real harm was done. Nobody uses James Dean Potter.

Nobody.

"Okay, there, Jimmy Dean?"

"What, Travis?"

"Are you okay?" Travis and Ron were standing in front of him, looking at him quizzically. James was shocked to find himself outside of the store, leaning against the wall. Brian and Ginny were sting on the street corner, looking up from the old Dean guitar. "You look dazed. Did Lockhart put you under some kind of spell-"

"Well, well, well," A high, arrogant voice cut Travis off. Draco Malfoy appeared from behind an alley corner with a crooked smirk on his sharp, pale face. "The Potter twins just can't help but get themselves from being in the limelight, can they?"

"It wasn't by choice, Malfoy," James seethed through gritted teeth.

Malfoy's eyebrow shot up. "Oh, really? Could have fooled me."

"Fooling you is never difficult, ya dolt," Travis muttered.

"Ooh, I'm pained," Draco chuckled, laying a bone white hand over his black clad chest in faux despair.

"You better be," Harry shot back.

Draco sneered and gave Harry a cold look. "Watch your tongue, Potter. You couldn't insult me with a comeback to save your pathetic life."

"Leave him alone!" Ginny burst out in an uncharacteristic flash of confidence. James couldn't remember her saying three words in a single conversation before, much less a sentence. Her face immediately turned red in embarrassment.

"Ooh, look!" Draco laughed, pointing at the dirty-faced redhead. "Potter's got a girlfriend!"

"She's not my girlfriend!" Harry roared.

"Cool story, bro," James muttered. "I suggest you leave, Malfoy."

"Cool story," Malfoy guffawed, his attention not leaving Harry. "But in all honesty, Potter. Is this how you normally operate? Live it up in the limelight, and then have your pathetic lackeys-"Malfoy spared Travis a derogatory side glance- "Fight your insult battles for you?"

James was tired. And angry. And more than a little fed up. So it didn't surprise him in the least when he grabbed Malfoy by the color of his expensive and stylish black shirt and shoved the moron to the ground. Slamming his knee down on the Slytherin's chest, James sidled his forearm up on Malfoy's throat and got to business.

"Listen here, you damn Snake. We are not like you. Don't liken us to you. Those 'lackeys,' are my best friends. My brothers. You have no rightful business telling me they're below me, you bloody fag. You understand me?"

Malfoy sputtered and whimpered under James' lock, spinning his thin arms stupidly underneath him. Harry moved to pull James up, but Travis held him back just as the Weasley and Potter clans came out of the bookstore and a tall, blonde man and an athletic dark haired man came around the corner with a girl holding his hand.

"James!" Lily screeched, wheeling herself forward, but not in time.

"Stupefy!" the blonde man sneered, a wand in his hand.

James flew off Draco with a shuddering jerk and slammed into the wall, breaking a plank of wood with his back before falling to the ground. James Sr. leapt into action, punching the guy with Artur on his heels, taking on the Irish man.

"Arthur!" Molly hollered angrily. "James!"

"Mom!" James Dean moaned. "Why can't I move?"

"Get 'im, Dad!" Travis screamed.

"Take out Malfoy, Mr. Potter!" Fred and George cheered.

"What is going on?" Brian asked.

"Would somebody please unparalyze me?"


	8. Random Moments: The Mystery of the Brick

The fallout of James Dean's latest mishap wasn't as bad as he thought. As it turned out, the tall blonde man was Malfoy's dad, and the Irish guy was Emma's. James Sr., as a law enforcement officer with the Auror's, had Malfoy by the family jewels with assault on a minor, so any legal action that Lucius Malfoy brought up on James Dean for attacking Draco was nulled, and Declan Kennedy, Emma's dad, never really had anything to do with it.

Mom, on the other hand, was a little more difficult to get off. But halfway through her tirade, James dropped Lockhart's name and she cooled off. "You four are grounded. Two weeks."

Two weeks came and went and before James knew it, he was standing before the portal to Platform 9 and ¾. Off to Hogwarts for a second year and a new year of pranking Argus Filch, avoiding Professor Severus Snape, getting philosophy lessons from Dumbledore, and serving detention with McGonagall... James couldn't keep the smile off his face.

King's Cross was full of people; wizard families taking their children to the train and muggles looking at the weird people with luggage carriers filled with odd things like cauldrons, toads, and owl cages. Wabbajack, James' owl, hooted angrily at one muggle kid who tried to stick his finger in at him. James scared the kid off, and Wabbajack ruffled his feathers at James appreciatively.

The walk through the platforms was uneventful, and Fred and George went through the portal first, with ease. Molly went through with Ginny, and Lily wheeled after them. With the others out of the way, James Sr. held Ron, Harry, James, Travis and Brian back for a moment.

"Now, boys," James Sr. started, and the boys groaned with the prediction of the inevitable lecture.

James Dean droned his father out, knowing exactly what he was going to prattle on about. Avoid fights, pranks, and Malfoy, do your homework, wash behind the ears and say hello to Hagrid, don't forget to stay on Snape's good side, even though he doesn't have one… James heard I all already. So he went off into la-la land, and watched people on the platform. An old lady hobbling to Platform 13 to get on her train dropped a ten pound note from her purse, and a punk rocker teen picked it up and pocketed it. James and he made eye contact and nodded at each other. A business man disembarking from a train on Platform 7 was shrieking at his young, female assistant for getting his coffee wrong. Her white blouse was stained brown, and she was crying as she hurried to keep up with the jerk's long strides.

James turned when he heard familiar, high pitched voices and turned and saw a cute Spanish girl and a slim blonde giggling over a soccer ball…

"James!"

"Huh?"

"Check this out!" Harry hollered.

"What is it?" James asked, as he snapped out of his day dream. He didn't see Cassandra. How could he? "Where's dad?"

"Went through the wall," Travis sighed. "He went first… but now we can't through!"

"Okay, dudes, this is messed _up_."

Harry rubbed his forehead where he banged it on the now closed wall that was the entrance to Platform 9 and ¾. James couldn't agree with Brian's assessment more. But what really got him was why the portal to the magical world wouldn't open for them. Ginny, the other Weasley's, and the Potter parents passed through just fine, but it wouldn't let them through? What the hell?

"Yeah, it is. Chances are, too, that our parents ain't going to be able to come out, either."

"James speaks reason," Travis muttered. "You're good at that."

"I try."

"So what do we do now?" Ron asked, looking confused.

"Well, we can wait," Travis suggested lamely. "Or, we can take a little initiative. The Anglia is parked outside…"

"That's right!" Ron exclaimed, a mischievous grin growing on his face.

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa_," James tutted. "That's risky. Mr. Weasley's car isn't exactly a Ministry-approved project, so he said himself. If we mess it up… he could lose his job, or worse. We can't just up and _take_ his car. What if something goes wrong?"

Ron's look of eagerness died with this realization.

"Since when have you cared about something going wrong?" Harry asked incredulously. "You are a proud troublemaker."

"Yeah, and we take pride in getting away with it, too," Brian argued. "I'm with James. We shouldn't do this. It's too risky."

"What's too risky?" the voice of James Sr. asked. The five turned. "What prank is worth missing the Hogwarts Express and worrying your mothers half to death?"

"No prank," James Dean answered, smacking his palm and the hard concrete wall that was the entrance to the Platform. "We're barred, apparently."

"What? Why? On who's authority?"

"I dunno," James shrugged.

"Go get in Arthur's car, dammit!"


	9. Chapter 9: The Whomping Willow

Yay! New chapter, finally! I'm gonna work on the next as soon as this is uploaded! I know its been over a year, and I'm sorry to all who've been waiting. So here it is; the newest chapter!

**Recommended Listening**: Underclass Hero

**Artist**: Sum 41

**Album**: Underclass Hero

**_ENJOI_**

* * *

The flight had been exciting at first, as the five boys whooped and hollered as the old flying car swooped and dived as it followed the Hogwarts express. But as the trip wore on, fun gave way to boredom as James, Harry, and their three friends began started dozing off.

As dusk turned the skies a menagerie of colors, their father woke them up. "We're close. Better get dressed for school, kids."

Clobbering each other with knees and elbows, they struggled into their school robes. Not a word was said until a choking sound came from the engine.

"Uh oh," James Sr. muttered.

The car nose dived. James, who was in the front seat, got a prime view of Ron's behind as he came flying into the front seat. "Dude, get your butt outta my face!"

"Pull up, Dad," Harry screeched from the backseat, holding onto Travis as held onto the headrest. "Pull _UP_!"

"I'm _trying_!"

"Dad, we're gonna _wreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_-"

With a mighty CRAAAAAASH, the Ford Anglia smashed into the earth, its nose plowing the grass and dirt before its rear tires finally found solid ground. They were lucky; the car came to rest mere feet away from a lone, ancient tree sitting sixty yards away from Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. James Dean pulled his head off the dashboard and shook his shaggy red hair from his eyes.

"Oh," the twelve year old muttered. "So that's why they make seatbelts. The windshield is screwed…"

"The windshield?" Brian scoffed. "The entire car is junked. Mr. Weasley is gonna be livid!"

"My wand," Ron cried, holding it up. It was nearly snapped in two, the only thing holding together was a small strip of wood that didn't break in the wreck.

"So that's hit my shoulder," James Dean said, rubbing his left shoulder idly.

"Screeeeeech!" James Dean's and Harry's owls, Wabbajack and Hedwig, screeched in unison.

"Hush, you's."

Ron and Harry muttered something about a wimping wallaby, all before James Sr. screamed, "Get down!"

The twelve inch thick branch of the tree came swinging down, hard, into the front hood of the Anglia, crushing the already mangled metal. James screamed a quick "Holy shi-" before the car came to life, and on its own, backed away from the tree and swung it's doors open. Rearing back on it's back tires, it kicked it's six occupants and their luggage out of the car and with a mighty war cry, chug-chug-chugged off into the Forbidden Forest.

"Well…" James Sr. sighed. "That didn't go as planned."

"Apparently not," the voice of Severus Snape sneered.

Turning around slowly, James looked up at Snape, green with fear. "Uh… it wasn't us?"

"Headmaster's office," Snape replied with impunity. "_All_ of you."

* * *

James could hear the voices of the heads of Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Gryffindor houses yell back at forth with each other angrily as Dumbledore and his father had more somber, even tones. Apparently Snape wanted James Sr. arrested, and the Potter sons expelled, considering their "illegal use of magic." McGonagall and Flitwick had other ideas and made them very well known. Dumbledore finally made up a verdict, and the Headmaster's office opened. James looked for his father; he wasn't there. Dumbledore stormed out of his office, and gave the five boys a disappointed look. Harry looked like he was about to say something, but choked on the words. As he tried to speak again, he was cut off.

"Harry, Weasley, with me. Now."

Harry and Ron quickly followed Professor McGonagall, heads low. Snape passed by quickly, almost tripping the wizened and aging Professor Flitwick, head of Ravenclaw House, as he did so. Giving Harry a death glare, he too stormed off and disappeared down the corridor. Flitwick motioned for James, Travis and Brian to follow him, and they did so without a word. He led them to a classroom on the second floor, a corridor down from Ravenclaw Tower.

As they entered the room, Flitwick tried to climb atop a dusty, unused desk. Travis stepped up and lofted him atop it. He mumbled his thanks in between wheezy breaths and smiled awkwardly. His hair was a wiry, wispy white and stuck around in odd directions, reminding James of Albert Einstein. His wrinkled, pudgy face was pale, and his bright blue eyes were of a clear tropical sky, warm and breezy and intelligent. He stood only a mere three foot tall; the three boys made him look like an eighty year old toddler.

"Now," Flitwick started. "Boys, I know that it wasn't your fault. Your father told us about the misshap at King's Cross. But, unfortunately…"

"Unfortunately what, Professor?" Brian asked.

"Well, lads… Snap will not let you and your father's course of action go unpunished. He wanted you expelled-"

"Pffft," Travis mumbled. "Please. What else were we supposed to friggin' do?"

"Your father's point exactly, in less… er… _minced_ words. So Dumbledore left your punishments to the respective Heads of House."

"So…?" James queried, curious. "What's our poison, Prfoessor?"

"Well, it isn't exactly a poison. A week of detention each, with me, in my office. You will help me grade assignments."

"You're the one who is charge of detentions for first quarter!?" Trravis gasped. "Sweet!"

"Well… not exactly. That privilege is Gilderoy Lockheart's."

The three boys groaned in exasperation.

"My point exactly," Flitwick wheezed. "So I will handle your punishments, at least this time. I know how…" He flicked his gaze to James. "Popular, you boys are. Subjecting you to suck torments would be rather… too much."

"We appreciate, Professor," James smiled, earning a smile from Flitwick in return.

"Of course you do. The less you have to deal with, now, the better. Now Get going back to your dormitories. The feast is long over by now. I'll write you each notes, in case Argus decides to heckle you."

* * *

"Dude, I love Flitwick," Travis laughed as he flipped his note over in his hand. "I swear, we got so friggin' lucky getting sorted in Ravenclaw."

"Tell me about," Brian sighed as he tucked his note in his pocket. "We can use these damn near anytime we want- he didn't even date them!"

"We'll keep that in mind for the next time Filch hassles us," James snickered. "Get outta jail free card, baby!" James tucked his note in the breast pocket of his robes as he met the portal to the Ravenclaw dorms.

"Give me food, and I will live," the Eagle head guarding the dorms muttered. "But give me water, and I will die. What am I?"

"Fire," all three answered.

"You may pass," the Eagle opened the door. The three boys didn't make it across the threshold before they were swept in by a mass of hands.

"Nice flying, boys!" Roger Davies hollered jubilantly. "What prank are you gonna pull next!?"


	10. Chapter 10: Gilderoy Lockhart

Yay, new chapter! So soon? Yeah, I started writing again. I'm on a kick, live with it. If anybodies interested, I'm looking for a beta. I'd like someone I could bounce ideas off of, for one, and a literate and grammar nazi-esque proofreader. Any takers? Message me.

**Recommended Listening:** Celebrity

**Artist**: Brad Paisley

**Album**: Mud on the Tires

**ENJOI**

James woke up the next morning smiling. Many of his more rowdy housemates made him and his three brothers out as heroes last night, and he had promised them a ride in the Anglia, should he ever manage to get it back. Climbing out of bed, he slipped into his school uniform, the same he wore the night previous, and clambered out of the dorms, not bothering to wake up Brian, Travis, or his other two bunkmates.

The Common Room was empty. Last night's fire was dwindling in the hearth, a mound of embers and ash. The smell of seasoned, burning pine filled the room and James inhaled it all in, holding it in his lungs and basking in its warmth. Without further ado, he grabbed his messenger bag and stepped out the room.

He strolled leisurely through the corridors on his way to the Great Hall, chirping hellos to the talking paintings, even the ones that cursed at him. He stopped once, along the Third floor's eastern wing and watched the sun as it began its ascent. It filled the grounds with golden light, from the mountains at the west, to the tops of the Black Forest in the east. James grinned at the sight and again, basked in warmth.

Filling his quota of "smelling the roses," he hurriedly bee lined to the Hall. Sitting down next to one of the other Ravenclaw early birds, a girl with wily, pale blonde hair and a dazed look on her face, James smiled at her, and she smiled back, somewhere off above his right shoulder. She looked to be close to his age, but he didn't recognize her. She must have been one of the new first years.

"You must be a first year, huh?" He asked simply, as he poured himself a cup of orange juice.

"Oh, yes," She replied in a whimsical, far away voice. She reminded James of Gene Wilder's Will Wonka. "I'm Luna Lovegood. Weren't you here for the Sorting Last night?"

"Er, well, no," James stammered, almost forgetting the Anglia's 'mishap from the night before. "I was… busy."

"Too busy for the start of school feast?" Luna asked the wall behind James right shoulder. "Curious."

"Yeah, it wasn't anything worth seeing. Or knowing. Seen one, seen 'em all."

"So what's your name?"

"My name?" James asked, but then shook his head. "Oh, right, my bad. My names James," He held his hand out and Luna just looked down at it with a funny look on her face. James slowly started wondering what could possibly have gotten on his hand in the last ten seconds he hadn't looked at it to make her not want to shake it.

"I'm sorry," she said in a matter of fact tone. "But your hand; it's covered in Nargles."

"Oh," James muttered dumbly, still holding his hand out. "My… er, bad?"

"Oh, it's nothing you should be sorry for. The Nargles are always bad this time of year. My papa told me so."

"I see," James said before gulping down his glass of juice. Shoveling eggs and bacon on his plate and slathering a healthy portion of butter on a biscuit, he began slowly eating, considering the odd conversation he had just had. The stole glances at the wild looking girl every so often, as if doing so would reveal the secret to what exactly she had been talking about. James would have just asked, but he had the distinct feeling he wouldn't really like the answer. He felt so awkward that he almost hugged Ron when he had walked up.

Yawning, James Dean's red-haired sat down next to James and mumbled something James couldn't make out. He didn't care, he hugged his twin's best bud and said, "Good morning, Ron! How are ya?"

Ron pulled away from James and winced. "Dya haf to tok so woud?" Ron asked over large mouthful of unbuttered toast. James cringed at the barbarity, his appetite now gone. "Blimey, what has you so chipper so early, anyway?"

"It's a new day, and apparently Nargle season is close," James replied with a shrug. Ron looked at him cock-eyed. It made him look like a confounded ginger weasel. James laughed and shrugged again. Ron's cow chomping culled his apetite. He got up and decided to get an early start on running down classes.

"Oi," Ron hollered. "Where are you buggering off to in such a hurry?"

"Class," James answered, not looking back.

"Aren't you gonna finish your breakfast?"

"You can have it," James said with mirth as he took off along the Grand Staircase.

"Nargles," Ron scoffed; ignoring the looks he got from the Ravenclaw students, he shoveled James' half eaten plate onto his own. "What the bloody 'ell are those?"

"Oh," said the wily haired blonde. "You don't know? I'll just have to tell you everything!"

…

James met up with Brian and Travis when they all got their schedules from Flitwick. They reveled at having Charms, Herbology and potions first that day. Their Charms class went smoothly, where they learned the three forms of the Incendio charm, including the base fire starting form (which Brian and James perfected and schemed about things they wanted to burn, Number Four Privet Drive may or may not be included,) the Faerie Fire version that simply cast a bright blue light but didn't burn, and the tricky candle lighting spell, that allowed the caster to ignite the wicks of multiple candles.

Herbology was excruciating, easy, and ear splitting. Professor Sprout had them re-potting infantile Mandrakes that left James' ears ringing for hours afterward, despite the ear muffs he had worn. He swore to send a letter to his mother asking for extra ear plugs the next time he wrote.

The lunch hour was spent laughing as Ron got a Howler from his mother about the Anglia. Ron's face got so red his freckles had disappeared, and by the end of the hour he couldn't barely go anywhere without someone chiding him with "Ronald Weasley! How dare you steal that car!"

Potions went smooth, considering. Snape had made it a point to try and antagonize James, but James had studied his book before Hogwarts had even started, so James knew every answer to every question. Brian, however, was lost and had turned his Hair Raising potion from the slime green color it was supposed to be into a thick, muddy goop by adding one too many rat's tails. Snape was forced to give James an exemplary grade, but he gritted his teeth and shook his head as the three left the dungeons, his greasy hair swaying limply as he did so.

Their last class that day had been Defense Against the Dark Arts. Travis gulped audibly as they walked into Lockhart's classroom, but had turned it into a choking laugh as they saw the disarray the room had been left in.

"My, my, my," James tutted, causing Padma Patil to giggle. "What in the world did my twin brother do to your room, Professor?"

Gilderoy Lockhart stepped out of his office, his vivid, usually perfect blonde hair a mess and his previously perfect blue robes that were tailored to match his eyes were tattered and stained. He flashed a nervous smile, showing his ridiculously white teeth and making the female population of the class swoon.

"So pretty," Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff, whispered dreamily. Ernie McMillan, her best friend and fellow Badger, shook his head.

"Well, uh, James, things with the last class got a bit, well, uh… out of hand."

"Obviously."

"Even flustered, he's beautiful…" Isobel MacDougal one of James' own housemates, simpered. He sighed. Even the women of his own house fell for the dimwit. He was vaguely disappointed.

James took a seat right in the front, despite his usual back row arrangements. He considered running for popcorn, he was sure the lesson was going to be quite a show.

"I heard that he had let loose a bunch of caged Cornish pixies," Michael Corner whispered from behind James. "Granger had to corral them for him, but she didn't do it in time."

"In time?" James asked.

"Yeah," Michael quietly laughed. "Poor Longbottom got picked up by his ears was hung to the chandelier by the scruff of his robes."

James chuckled. "Oh, lord."

"Yeah, and all Lockhart did was scream gibberish hocus pocus then ran in his office!"

"Quiet, please!" Lockhart called. Every student snapped their attention to him, especially the girls. James noticed that Emma Kennedy was even raptured by the man. He rolled his eyes. "If you would, please, put your books away, please, please, thank you!"

"Allow me to introduce you to your new Defense Against the Dark Art teacher… Me!"

"Duh," Travis muttered quietly, earning a laugh from the class. Lockhart didn't seem to notice.

He smoothed his hair and swept the torn side of his robes behind his back. "Surely you all know who I am? Gilderoy Lockhart? Order of Merlin, Third Class? Honorary Member of Dark Arts Defence _League_? Five time winner of Witch-Weekly's Most Charming _Smile_ Award?"

"That's quite the resume," Terry Boot teased, but the sarcasm was lost to the Professor.

"Indeed it is! But alas, I didn't banish the Bandon Banshee with my smile!"

"Could'a fooled me," Brian whispered. "His teeth are so bright they could blind a bat."

The good Professor waited until every student had quited before continuing. "Now, we're going to take a quick pop-quiz-"

The entirety of the class groaned.

"Now, now," Lockhart chided with another award winning smile. "I'm just seeing who all read their material before they came to school, that is all."

Lockhart passed the papers around, and the questions the quiz asked struck James as… egotistical.

_What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite ice cream?_

_What does Gilderoy Lockhart consider to be his crowning achievement?_

_Which hand does Gilderoy Lockhart use to wipe his butt?_

Just kidding, he is above asking such trivial things. But we all know the answer to the question.

James, feeling rebellious, answered every one of the ridiculous questions with an equally unreasonable reply. But _of course, Professor, your favorite ice cream must be Blue Jay dropping, how else would your eyes be such a beautiful shade of indigo?_ _Why, your crowning achievement, Professor Lockhart, was when you discovered the wonders of an orthodontist! Maybe you could give me his number? Your teeth are to die for. _

Lockhart never bothered grading his, leaving James feeling put off. Apparently being a "celebrity like him," made James above having to be a hard working, book reading commoner.

The man was such a dolt.

…

Kiara Emmaline Kennedy sat alone by the lake after the class. James sat by a window looking over lake with Harry, Travis and Brian, just hanging out, when he saw her. She looked a fragile thing, short, thin, and frail. He long, long brown hair gave her a pathetic puppy dog look, and her wide eyed baby blues didn't help matters much. But from his vantage point he couldn't see her face, because she had it buried in between her knees. He was about to walk down to see her when she started wracking her shoulders.

By Merlin's beard and staff, she was _crying_.

He was again about to get up and do something about it when an annoyingly shrieky voice pierced James' eardrums.

"Oh, cool! James, and Harry! Could I get your autographs!"

"Colin!" Harry screamed, about to push Colin out of the way. Then Lockhart showed up and asked about autographs. James sneered, and swore he coulda done Snape proud, how hard his lip curled.

Clenching his fists, James got ready for another "How to," Celebrity lesson.

…

Kiara, who more often went by her shortened middle name, Emma, sat by the lake and wept. Looking down at the only picture she had of her mother, who died less than six months after Emma was born, she sobbed out her pain, wishing she had a mother to rely on. It had only been a day since she got to Hogwarts, but the bruises on her chest and arms were still dark, vivid, and sore.

Her father had hit the Firewhiskey early yesterday morning.

Just moving made her ribs ache, but she cried anyway. Just practicing Charms today irritated the bruises on her arms, but she hefted her wand anyway. Just making it through the day was agony; she did it anyway. Why?

Nothing gets better without doing something to make it better.

"Em?"

Surprised out of her little world of pain, Emma quickly wiped the tears none to conspicuously and Tucked the picture in her robes. Turning around, she saw that it was James Dean Potter. He had caught on to her wiping her tears away, but didn't bring it up. Kiara didn't quite know what to make of the boy. He was cute, in a way, for a boy. He was about her height, which wasn't much, but his attitude made him seem larger than life. His shaggy, dark red hair had begun to curl at the bottom, indicating he hadn't put much thought to getting it groomed. His pale skin contrasted with his almond shaped green eyes, pools of emerald that shone with wit and intelligence.

Kiara envied him. He was always so happy. And smart. And clever. And he was cute. Kiara saw him as a poster boy Ravenclaw, something she thought she could never match. She wasn't smart, or pretty, or even remotely clever. All she could be was a mediocre at best student, who had a drunk father who thought she should have been a Slytherin, and that she was a failure for not being so. She shook her head.

Yeah, Kiara envied him. And she felt bad because of it because out of everybody else in her life, James Dean Potter was the only one who was actually _nice_ to her.

"You okay, there, Kennedy?"

Kiara was shaken from her thoughts yet again. "What do ye mean?"

"Well," James replied with a chuckle. "I had your attention for a split second, and then you phased out on me again."

"Oh."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Are. You. Okay?" James asked again, almost stopping to spell the words out.

"Oh. Uh, yes," Kiara lied, looking at her feet and wondering how sand had managed to form by a lake. That was interesting, because it gave her something else to think about other than the Witty Jimmy Dean and his unwavering concern for her well being.

"Right," James muttered with a roll of his eyes. He sat down next to and looked out across the lake. He squinted against the sunlight, no doubt looking for the Giant Squid. When he finally caught sight of it, he smirked, as if amused by its presence. "It's so beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Kiara answered quietly. Her Irish accent made her feel even more insecure compared to James suave, unique accent. Her father said he gotten it from New York, and that it made him sound like an animal. But Kiara didn't think so. It sounded smooth, like every word could just roll off his tongue. Her Irish accent, in her ears, sounded chunky and garbled.

"I wish we were allowed to fish," James said randomly. "Hagrid would always come out to our place on the Isle of Wight, and he taught me and my brothers how to fish. We got a small pond out there on our property. Dad even says when we get older, he'll take us out to our vacation home in Hawaii and take us deep sea fishing."

"That's nice."

"Hey, maybe you could come? You'd have a blast."

Did… did he just invite her to Hawaii? With his family? She had never been to the tropics before. Hell, she'd never been farther south than London! She had seen pictures of Hawaii in her old primary school science books. It looked beautiful. She wanted so badly to go, but…

"Maybe… I'd like to…"

"Sweet! You'll have a great time. Get away from all this stuck up, hoighty toity British upper class and just let loose, y'know."

Kiara doubted that it'd ever happen. Her father didn't like her even going outside their manor without his ever present eyes watching. But still… it'd make a nice dream.

"Are you sure you're okay?" James asked again. He looked at her in an odd way, as if looking through her. "You keep looking off a thousand miles away."

"I'm fine," Kiara grumbled, regretting getting angry immediately. "I- I have to go."

She stood up and grabbed her bag. He stood up to and grabbed her arm. His thumb put pressure on a ripe bruise and she hissed in pain. Pulling her arm back vehemently, she stormed off. James called for her to wait, but she just muttered a "See ye later," and ran to her dorm.

_Odd_, James thought. _I wander what's going on?_


	11. Random Moments: Snape's Recipe

James waited until everyone had fallen asleep that night before sneaking out of the dorms. Grabbing his messenger bag and the Invisibility Cloak he and Harry shared, he soundlessly disappeared from the Common Room. The halls of the school were dark and quiet, and for the most part deserted. A few Prefects were out and abound, patrolling, and a few Slytherins were concealed in broom cupboards, doing naughty, naughty things to each other, and not in the Dark Arts way, either. James rolled his eyes at their unoriginality. There were so many classrooms with alcoves that blocked any view from the corridors, and lots of dark corners out in the courtyards, yet they always chose the broom cupboards.

The tight, tiny, confined broom cupboards. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. They obviously didn't get lessons from the Weasley Twins.

Ignoring the Prefects and the occasional moans, James made his way to the dungeons. A derelict potions lab was down there, fully equipped with the necessary equipment from archaic Bunsen burners to cauldrons to distillers and pestles. All it needed was some potions supplies. And James had that covered.

Upon closing the old lab's door, James shucked off the cloak, but hooked it on the side of the main lab table in case he needed it in a bind. Pulling three stuffed packages from his messenger bag, he unwrapped them and categorized their contents. Toad eyes, rat's tails, various mushrooms, frog legs, dried nettles, bat spleens, snake oils, even a few bezoars. Taking these ingredients and more and organizing them in a heavy oak lockbox James found in the lab's supply closet, he set them to the side and with a quietly muttered, "_Nymphus Incendus_," lit a lantern with Faerie Fire.

Filling the cauldron with a gallon of distilled water, he scrubbed the rust, dust, and centuries of grime from the pot with a magical scouring pad he had nicked from Flitwick's room. Dumping the dirty water into a basin, he filled the cauldron and rinsed the last vestiges of impure compounds before dumping that water in the basin as well.

"Incendio," James muttered, pointing his wand at the ancient Bunsen burner. Content that it would stay lit, he set the cauldron on its own burner and lit that, too, adding his last gallon of distilled water. Grabbing three mortars and a pestle, a retort flask, and a bronze alembic from the supply closet, James finished setting up his table before finally pulling out his recipe; Severus Snape's "rejected" multiplication potion thesis.

Reading past the garbly-gook introduction, James got down to the nitty gritty, and read Severus Snape's cramped, articulate writing as thoroughly as he could.

"_The multiplication potion, as I have tested, can take but a mere drop of any other potion it comes in contact with and effectively duplicate said potion, and its effects_."

James grinned. He knew Severus Snape and knew the old Snake wouldn't ask to have this published if he didn't think it was worthwhile; James had a meal ticket for anything he wanted: cheating in Potions class, creating mass amounts of potions for pranks…

Or, you know, saving lives or other boring such things of that nature.

James couldn't believe that this potion had been rejected, or much less misused to destroy the Potions Department of the Merlinsonian. James had studied the document many times ever since he discovered in the Library last year, when Hermione had James and his brothers searching for Nicholas Flammel. He was thoroughly convinced that this "Adallius Amerson," had either been an idiot, or had purposely screwed the potion up. Either way, the recipe was in James' sole hands now, since he had, to his knowledge, stolen the only known copy.

Grin growing ever wider, James settled in for a long night of work. It'd be dawn by the time his, or rather Professor Snape's, masterpiece would be ready for trial.


	12. Chapter 12: Mudbloods and Murmurs

James crawled, more than stumbled, out of the castle the next morning, obviously exhausted. He meandered off in the general direction of Hagrid's hut, fingers stained with juices and powders from his all-night potions work. His shaggy red hair was blown up, and back, and all over from a particularly surprising mistake where he accidentally mixed two generally latent ingredients and they concussed in his face. He still had flaky white particles cling to his eyebrows.

Rubbing his eyes, and by proxy, more of the crusty powder, he shook his head in an attempt to wake himself up. It took all of about five minutes to shamble up to Hagrid's hut, but it seemed like an eternity to James. More powder fell off his shoulders as he unceremoniously shoved the hut's door open, scaring a half-awake Hagrid into reaching for his crossbow while knocking over his bowl of porridge at his table, and causing Fang, the humongous black coated boarhound to scamper under the bed, nearly toppling it over.

"Oh, James! You scared the devil out 'er meh," Hagrid breathed, wiping up the porridge he spilled reaching for his weapon of choice. "All righ'?"

"Skiddish much, 'Grid?" James muttered as he pulled a basket of Hagrid's infamous Rock Cookies and a flagon of magically chilled goat's milk from the small larder. James dropped half the basket of the notoriously tough biscuits into a mixing bowl bigger than his head, and haphazardously poured the ice cold milk in, splattering the liquid all over the table and floor. Fang came out from his hiding hole and started lapping up the spilt milk on the floor, and cleaning a hefty trail of dust as he did so.

"Ye jus' startled me, 'tis all," Hagrid answered as he stood and got himself a new bowl of hot porridge. At least, that's what James thought it was. He cast James a sideways glance "Ye even sleep last night?"

"Ner," James replied half heartedly, barely conveying the negative. He took a seat across from Hagrid at the table.

"Working on tha' potion of Snape's?" Hagrid pushed, sitting back down at the table.

'Yer," came James' reply.

"It looks like it was as explosive as the ole college feller said…"

"Accidentally mixed dragon's blood with… with… something… I don't remember…"

"Ah, I see."

James mumbled an unintelligible reply as he pulled his wand out from his back pocket. Twirling the tip into the milk, he muttered a quick "Laio xutos," as watched stoically as the milk magically penetrated the cookies and rendered them soft.

"Neat trick, that," Hagrid said over a spoonful of his fresh bowl of porridge.

"Hm," James replied as he scooped a generous spoonful of his own breakfast into his mouth.

"Well, only Saturday, yer free ter sleep in the bed. Prolly more peaceful than the dorms."

"Ye angel, 'Agid," James bumbled over a heaping mouthful of soggy rock cookie.

Some bits of the biscuit fell from his mouth and dribbled on the floor for Fang to summarily clean up. If Hagrid was put off by his terrible table manners, he did a fantastic job showing it. They spent the rest of breakfast in comfortable silence, munching on the soggy meals and sipping the harsh, fetid tea that Hagrid boiled. Hagrid left James at the table to go to work on the grounds, making Fang stay to keep him company.

It wasn't long before James Dean was snuggled up in Hagrid's large, bigger-than-a-king-size bed, using Fang's flank as a pillow and cuddling up with the dog. He was out light a light in moments and slept hard. He dreamed of things he could barely register, vague happiness, opaque sorrow, fleeting success and short-lived shame. He dreamt of fire and snakes, white hands that looked like spiders and a gleaming smile that made all his fears go away. But the one lasting memory was a red haired girl, yet again running through a field of green grass and blooming flowers, laughing and calling to him. He could almost hear what she said when-

"-oody slugs!"

"Gyah!" James shrieked as he jumped five feet in the air, legs flailing as he flipped out of Hagrid's bed and landed on the dirty wood floor. Fang, startled yet again, rumbled underneath the bed.

"Skiddish much, James?" Hagrid chuckled as he picked James up and set him back on the bed's edge.

"Laugh it up, 'Grid," James muttered as he rubbed the shoulder he landed on. Looking up at a slightly amused Harry, a miserable looking Ron, who held an ominous looking bucket, and an obviously distraught Hermione, he cocked his head. "What's going on-"

James was cut off as Ron barfed up a slurry of slugs. "Aw, gross!"

"Tell me about it," Ron whimpered pathetically.

Harry stifled a laugh, and when Hermione looked at him, his face went slack, and turned dark in anger. Curious.

"Curious," James mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "What happened?"

"Malfoy," Harry seethed.

"Uh-oh."

"That's an understatement," Hermione sighed, looking ever closer to tears.

"What did he do?"

"Ruined quidditch practice," Harry growled. "His daddy-dearest bought him the Slytherin seeker position, Snape forced us off the pitch, then called… he called Hermione…"

"Mudblood!" Hermione shrieked, tears rolling down her cheeks unchecked. "He called me a bloody _mudblood_!"

"And then Ron tried to curse him with a slug curse, and his wand is broken so…"

"Whoa," James breathed. A spell backfiring on Ron? Hardly shocking. But Hermione? _Cursing_!? "That's… that sounds awful, I guess? What is a mudblood, exactly?"

"Dirty blood," Hermione elaborated with an eye roll, wiping her reddening cheeks. "Muggleborn. Second rate. Purebloods like you call witches and wizards like me that to prove their superior."

"Uh…" James was taken aback. He could see why she was insulted. To imply that Hermione was less than adequate at anything was a personal insult to her… anything. "I'm sorry, I guess?"

"We aren't purebloods!" Harry defended. "Our mother is muggleborn…"

"We aren't?" James asked rhetorically, looking at Harry with a relieved expression. Hermione looked like she was about to claw him open.

"And that Malfoy is simpering brat, ye hear, 'Mione?" Hagrid spoke up, voice firm and edgy. "Ye jus' dun listen to Malfoy, there ain't a spell er incantation that Malfoy can cast that ye can't. In fact, there are some ye can that he can't. Yer ten times the witch tha' he will e'er be."

Hermione smiled for the first time since James woke up. She sheepishly wiped the tears from her face again and thanked Hagrid. Harry and James shared a look and shrugged, grinning. Ron belched a slug.

"Malfoy is such a-"James started but Hagrid cut him off, knowing what he was going to say.

"James…" he warned.

"Web-toed floozy worm. Innocent insult, see?"

"Not funny," Ron cried. He belched another slug.

"Right… sorry…"

"Well," Hermione softly added with a shy giggle. "It sort of was…"

Harry snorted, Hagrid barked a chuckle out and Hermione grew bolder in her giggling fit. Soon, the three of them were in a fit, and James joined them as laughter filled the room and brightened the otherwise bleary day. And Ron belched up a slug.

As the laughter died down, the hut filled up with silence again, with the exception of Ron's gasping and belching. James leaned back on the bed as Fang resumed his post next to him. Harry fiddled with his broom as Hermione began organizing Hagrid's flimsy bookshelf. She sniffled. The distraction was getting her mind off it, and the laughter brightened her mood. She obviously felt better, but was still hurt. James didn't know what he could say to make her feel any better. He never really got insulted… how could he comfort someone when he didn't even understand what they were going through…?

Ron belched up another slimy mollusc.

Struck with an idea, James picked up a small pebble off the floor; he lightly tossed it at the Gryffindor girl. Feeling the small rock bounce off her shoulder, she looked at him quizzically. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, he held his arms out. She smiled a bittersweet smile and walked into his arms. He squeezed tight and told her it would be okay. She replied with an I know.

And Ron threw up yet another terrestrial gastropod.

Poor guy.

…

The week of detention blew by like a breeze for James, Travis and Brian. Apparently grading papers with Professor Flitwick was a disguised veil to sitting in his class room after school hours discussing the finer points about life, practicing and reviewing practical Charms spells and getting extra credit course work that was so easy James was fairly convinced even Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle could have figured it out.

Harry and Ron, unfortunately, paid a steeper price for their "crime." Ron spent almost every night cleaning the Trophy Room, muggle style, at least until ten o'clock at night, if not later. Cleaning solution stained his fingers and chipped his finger nails. His grades, which were near abysmal to begin with, suffered from the lack of proper cheating-off-Hermione time. His knees were sore and bruised from kneeling for too long. And Harry…

Poor guy. He was left to grade assignments with none other than Gilderoy Lockhart himself, which all agrred was just cruel and unusual punishment. Basically, all Harry really had to do was read his fan mail and write and send off replies to said fanfare… but it was Lockhart's constant chattering that was driving splinter's under Harry's nails. Many a night as the three Ravenclaws and two Gryffindors passed each other in the halls after their punishments were done, Harry swore he would ruin the pathetic DADA instructor's "effing perfect smile."

But it was one particular night, the night when their detentions were finally done and over, that it happened. James was swaggering with Travis and Brian back to Ravenclaw Tower discussing a potential prank to pull on Filch, and they crossed paths with Ron and Harry at the same juncture as they always did the past week. Harry had a look. You know the look. That trouble look. The, oh-no-something-is-gonna-happen look.

James stopped dead in his tracks and gulped.

Harry charged forward, grabbed James Dean by the arm and hauled him into the nearest classroom, telling the other three to shove off.

"Well," James sniffed as he dusted and straightened his robes from his twin's manhandling. "That was rather rude, eh? I mean, I know Lockhart is awful, but-"

"This ain't about Lockhart," Harry hissed conspicuously. That grabbed James Dean's attention. Harry never hissed, much less conspicuously.

"Uh, what's going on?"

"I'm hearing voices in the walls!"

"So… talk to mom? She's the shrink, remember?"

"I'm not crazy!"

"Okay, okay," James held his hands up in defeat. "You're not loco."

"It was while I was stamping Lockhart's signature on his femme mail," Harry explained. He started pacing, and animatedly gestured with his hands. James didn't acknowledge his crack on Lockhart's female based appreciation; it was actually… quite an astute joke. "I heard this voice, like… a hissing, almost ghost-like. It sounded like I was hearing it through a wall."

"Freaky…"

"And Lockhart didn't even hear it. It's like I was imagining things. But after he let me go, and me and Ron were walking back, I heard it again, and then it got weird."

It wasn't weird before? James thought.

"The spiders. There was an army of them, running single file away from the direction the voice was coming from. Spiders aren't smart enough to be scared like that…"


	13. Chapter 13: The Start of October

October arrived all too quickly for James. His work on Snape's Multiplication potion ground to a halt due to the dungeons being warded off for some off the wall event that James still could not get to the bottom of. It was starting to irritate him to no end, not just because he was _this_ close to finishing the potion, or because with each passing day the likelihood of James' secret little lab could be discovered by a patrolling prefect or a sniveling Filch, but because he had a sour feeling Snape was on to him. The Potions Master would give him these weird, knowing looks and had been showcasing an uncanny knack for always being around that area of the dungeons whenever James tried futilely to gain access.

James had been filling the rest of his time studying, at quidditch practice (Roger Davies was captain this year, and was having a time replacing last years captain, Desmond,) and drawing up plans for an epic prank. Emma Kennedy, as he learned she liked to be called, made it a point to avoid him, despite his attempts at being friendly with her. Hell, the girl avoided everyone. It blew his mind that someone could be so anti-social, but to each their own, he surmised.

It was on the morning of the second of October, where James was seated with his brothers at the breakfast table, thoughtfully munching on a piece of jam covered toast when Snap stalked into the Great Hall. Limp, greasy black hair bouncing as walked with purpose, the Potions professor came right up behind the young Ravenclaw and placed his hand on his shoulder.

Placed is an understatement in normal situations. It was more like he dug his long, pale fingers into the pressure point between James Dean's shoulder and collar bone. But for Snape, that was almost… friendly.

"A word, Potter," Snape demanded.

"That was actually three, Professor," James replied smoothly, his suspicions about Snape's behavior becoming more and more credible by the moment. He had to buy time…

Travis and Brian, along with the other Ravenclaws at the table drew out a hearty "Oooooooh!" of humorous appreciation that Snape immediately killed with his Killing Look. Fingers digging ever so deeper into his clavicle, Snape hauled James up and shoved him in the direction of the Grand Staircase.

"Ten points from Ravenclaw," he sneered. "Facetious comments may be encouraged in _your_ smart-alec house, Mr. Potter, but I will have none of them."

"Yes, Professor," James answered obediently.

"That's better," the professor snidely remarked, leading James down into the dungeons.

James kept his mouth shut as they travelled well into the underground portion of the castle. He frantically flayed his mind for ways to prepare for he knew was going to happen. Snape found him out, he knew it. The scroll, the Multiplication potion, the abandoned lab… James knew his goose was cooked. Snape was still probably sore about the whole situation, considering it was a university scholarship he was after, and it was ripped from him because of whispers about dark magic. Maybe he could say that it wasn't him. Plausible deniability, perhaps? Or maybe, if Snape didn't know about _what_ James was doing, just that he was doing _something_, he could cop the 'Professor, I was just wanting extra practice,' excuse. No, Snape wouldn't care about that either way, in all likelihood… How could he get out of this?!

While his mind raced, James came to the realization that they were heading in the complete opposite direction of where his secret lab was set up. The green and silver banners, marking the heart of Slytherin territory, lined the walls. The thick velvet tapestries kept the chill out from being under the Black Lake, and James could hear, however vaguely, the sound of the swirling tentacles of the Giant Squid. Snape came to an olive colored door with an aged, bas-relief carving of a silvery coiled snake in its center. Muttering some words James could barely understand, the door clicked and the professor swung it open.

Sweeping James inside, Snape flew in after him and slammed the door shut. James found this peculiar, because it wasn't out of anger. Snape grew more and more fidgety, and his jerking movements did not seize after he swirled behind his desk and sat down on his bare, oversized office chair.

"Sit," Snape ordered, voice sounding stoic and clear, obviously in an attempt to not show any sign of disconcert. He held a hand up and pointed at the small wooden bench in front of his desk, and James was forcibly thrust onto it.

"Break my tailbone, why doncha…"

"_Silent_," Snape ordered.

James shut up, as requested. Snape stared at him. It was unnerving. So, he traveled his gaze across Snape's office, instead. The room was cold, dank, and gloomy. Poorly lit, the jars on the shelves lining the Southern wall were cast in half shadow, rendering their contents barely visible. What James could see, gave him chills. Along the eastern wall was more shelves, but with books of all types, sizes, and subjects. The western wall had cupboards that were obviously under lock and key. These were Snape's personal potions and ingredients, perhaps?

"Eyes to the front, Potter," Snape ordered, catching his inquisitive glance. He flicked his wand and a ratty old tapestry covered the cupboards from his sight. "You are probably wondering why I have brought you down here."

"Fair assumption," James replied stoically, keeping his green eyes locked on the professor's pale, greasy forehead, not daring to look the professor in his own, beady black eyes.

"As much as it _pains_ me to say, you are not here because you are in trouble."

James eyes nearly flew out of his skull.

"Shocking revelation for a Potter, I know," Snape sneered. "It has come to my attention that your…" Snape's voice trailed as if he was about to say something he didn't want to. "Mother forgot something here at Hogwarts during her tenure here."

Snape pulled a drawer open and withdrew a small, leather bound book with a small bronze clasp holding it closed. With hands somehow steady again, Snape handed the book over to James softly, and as James took it, the professor's fingers trailed over it, as if he wanted to hold it for as long as he could before it disappeared from his life. James held it up, and in glossy gold writing on the front was written:

_This Diary is Property of one Lily Marie Evans, Headgirl of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

"My mom's old journal?"

"Yes… now leave."

…

As warm and fuzzy as the dungeons were, James skedaddled out of them as fast as he could. He had to get to Transfiguration class next, and Snape didn't give him the courtesy of a tardy excuse. His mother's journal all but forgotten, he rushed up the stairs, he pranced, danced, and sidestepped his way through the hordes of students, accidentally knocking into Ginny Weasely. He barely saw the red rush in her face, much less acknowledged her other than a quick, "Sorry, Gin!"

Free from the masses clogging the Grand Staircase, he all out sprinted to McGonagall's class. Skidding to halt before the front door, he rushed in as quickly as he could. His left foot was just over the threshold as the bell rang, indicating that it was time for class to start. Everyone laughed as he swept over to the last available seat in the room. That seat was right in the back, right next to Emma Kennedy, which to everyone else was apparently humorous. The poor girl went red in the face in embarrassment from the attention.

"Glad to see you could finally make it, Mr. Potter," McGonagall primly. "Hush hush, all of you! Get out your books and open them to page one hundred-seventy two, please. Now, who can tell me the natural equation of Transfiguration?"

A brunette Slytherin's hand shot up, before James even had a chance to get his book out of his messenger bag.

"Ms. Davis, go ahead."

"Professor," the mousy haired, spectacled girl spoke confidently. "The equation is _t_ equals _w_ times _c_ over _v_ times _a_ all times _Z_.

McGonagall nodded her head as James finally got his book open. He flipped to the page the Professor said to and almost slapped himself. He… forgot to study the next chapter. McGonagall went on to write the equation on the board.

_T=W x C/V x A= Z_

'And what do these variables mean, Ms. Davis?" McGonagall inquired, turning to face the class.

"Um," the Slytherin girl mumbled, suddenly losing her confidence. The Slytherins in the class, hoping they would be awarded points due to Davis's studiousness, moaned in dejection.

"No credit for half answers, Ms. Davis… No? Okay then… Potter!" McGonagall turned to James and smiled a Cheshire grin.

Time, it seemed, stopped. Brian and Travis, seated in the middle, turned and looked his way, expectant and nervous expressions on their face. Malfoy, seated next to Pansy Parkinson, guffawed as she sneered at him. Padma Patil and Michael Corner had their hands up in the air, doing excellent impersonations of Hermione. Tony Goldstein had his pinky up his nose. James could feel his eyes get larger.

"Since you find it excusable to show up for class at the last minute, that must mean you were prepared enough for the lesson… Perhaps you could enlighten me with the other half of Ms. Davis's answer and take her points?"

"Um…" James mumbled himself. He went red in the face as the Slytherins, Draco Malfoy chief among them, snickered. For what seemed like the first time in his life, James choked. Bowing his head, James felt a kick in the shin, and barely heard Emma whisper "Transformation, bodyweight, viciousness, power, concentration, and unknown variable."

McGonagall shook her head. "Five points to Slytherin," she mumbled as she turned back to the board. "And five from Raven-"

"Ma'am, the variables stand for transformation, bodyweight, viciousness, power, focus and an unknown factor, ma'am."

McGonagall swung around, giving James a pleasantly surprised look. "That is correct, Mr. Potter…"

James sheepishly grinned. McGonagall gave Emma a suspicious look, but didn't say anything to her. "Ten points to Ravenclaw. Sorry, Ms. Davis, but as I said, no credit for half answers."

Emma gave him another kick in the shin. "We're even," she whispered, not even looking in his direction.

…

'Come, come," Professor Sprout called everyone in to the greenhouse. "The mandrakes are getting bigger, and they aren't going to re-pot themselves!"

Before he even had a chance to choose his own earmuffs, Sprout thrust a pair of the hideous, fluffy kind pairs in his hands and sent him off to the opposite side of the greenhouse. "You are not sitting with your friends today, Mr. Potter! Not after what you three did last week!"

"But Professor," James whined. "I didn't know that Shrivelfigs were flammable!"

"Its common sense, boy! Now go, tut-tut! You can work with Macmillan and Abbott today."

James harrumphed and trudged down to the end of the greenhouse and sat down next to the two Blonde Blunders, Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan. They gave James a friendly look, which he tried to fake back. It was no puzzle that these two, as nice as they were… were also incredible fallible. Ernie had a habit of spreading gossip and hearsay, and Hannah had a habit of falling apart when under pressure. And they were being trusted with the replanting of the one plant on Earth that not only had vocal cords, but _deadly_ vocal cords.

Lovely.

Travis, being paired with two other Hufflepuffs, gave James an apologetic look. Brian was too busy trying to show Justin Finch-Fletchley how to appropriately put on his herbology equipment to even notice that his other partner, Padma, was struggling to keep her Mandrake in it pot as it tried to crawl its way out.

James took a deep breath to try to steady himself, but it just shuddered in and whooshed out just as fast as he choked on the smell of dragon dung. He coughed the caustic smell out and shared a laugh with them at his blunder. It got quiet, so James sat there, waiting for them to do something, and they stared back at him.

"So…" James started. "Uh… sup, guys?"

Hannah gave him a small smile, blushed and looked away. Ernie nodded at him with a friendly grin.

"You guys, uh, ready to plant some 'Drakes?"

"You bet," Ernie replied, and whipped into action. "I'll go get the new pots and soil!" He decreed as he tottered off.

Great, James thought. Leave me alone with the girl who can't even manage to look at me… Say something nice!

"So… Hannah… how are you?"

"I'm fine," she quickly and sharply answered, her voice cracking. What the…?

"You, uh, you good at this stuff? Herbology, I mean?"

"Not really, I mean yes! I guess…" Her face got redder and redder the more he talked. Did he have something in his teeth? Was puberty hitting him already and he sprouted a zit?

"Hey mates, I'm back!" Ernie announced, carrying three pots and a bag of soil, his small frame dwarfed by his load. James, wanting to get away from the awkward conversation with Hannah, quickly stood up and relieved Ernie of the pots. "Oh, cheers, mate!"

"No problem," James replied.

"So," Ernie chirped. "You two find any common ground with each other while I was gone?"

"What are you talking about, man?" James asked as Hannah went so red James thought she was going to explode.

Ernie blanched. "Oh, nothing, never mind…" He gave Hannah an apologetic look. She shook her head at him. "Shall we get started?"

"Yeah," James asserted, He grabbed the earmuffs, and shoved the ugly things on. Ernie and Hannah followed suit. They set out their new pots and put copious amounts of soil and fertilizer in them. James helped Hannah pack in her soil, to which she blushed again. Just when James was about to ask what her deal was, Ernie yanked his Mandrake out.

And by yank, he ripped the foul, shriek-mouthed creature out of its pot with such force that he fell backwards, back into James… And elbowing him right in the ear. James's fuzzy muff slipped, ever so slightly off his head.

By God, the shrill.

James convulsed at the sound as it terrorized his eardrums. His vision whited out and he vaguely felt someone with cold, soft hands clamp the muffs back on his ears. He screamed, maybe, he couldn't tell, as all he could hear was a loud, high pitched ringing. He tumbled over something, or someone, and was lowered to the ground. His vision was returning to semi-normal, but it was like looking down a white rimmed tunnel. He could see that Hannah was above his face, her eyes brimming with tears as she cradled his head in her lap.

Professor Sprout shoved her to the side, and James could see her talking to him, but her words where indecipherable. He shook his head violently, but she clamped her hands on either side of his face, holding the muffs in place. He was hauled to his feet as Hannah and Ernie gripped his shoulders, at Sprouts urging, he assumed. They walked him out of the green house and towards the castle.

He turned to Hannah. "Hospital wing?" he asked. She nodded, tears still streaming down her face. "Wonderful," he replied sarcastically. "I'm clinically deaf!"

The path to Madame Pomfrey was unhindered for the most part, as most everyone was in class. With nothing else to do, James filled his time by complaining about the disorientation and how his ear felt wet. Hannah wiped his ear with her sleeve and held it up to him; it was scarlet.

"Wonderful," he said in what he thought was a quiet voice, but Ernie cringed. Either James came off as way too cruel and facetious, or he was talking really loud. "I'm clinically deaf!"

Then, to make things worse, the last person James wanted to see walked out of a class room, probably to see what was going on. It was Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Not him!" James cried.

Lockhart asked Ernie what was going on, James assumed. Ernie recounted the story, as he valiantly told Lockhart that he needed to get him to the Hospital wing, James hoped. Lockhart, seeing a chance be a hero, smiled and merrily sprang upright in a heroic fashion. James cried. The Professor raised his wand, took aim at James as Ernie and Hannah stepped away, and as James fell to the floor without their support, he could have sworn he read Lockhart's lips say, "Hearingium returnum!"

And that's when his head exploded.

…

When James awoke, he was in the hospital wing, in a bed, with bandages wrapped around his jaw and the crown of his head. His temples throbbed and pulsed painfully. His eyesight was still slightly janky, and he still couldn't hear anything other than that constant ringing. He tried to sit up in bed, and immediately regretted doing so, as a sharp, stabbing curve of pain arced up his neck and through and out of his eyeballs.

He tried to move his jaw to vocalize his suffering, but the wrappings around his jaw were woven so tight that he couldn't even talk. Dejected, he flopped his arms on the bed, and experimentally turned his head to see if anyone was around.

Spotting the nurse, he grunted in an attempt to notify her he was awake. She didn't hear him, so he had to wave frantically to get Pomfrey's attention. Once he had made her aware, she brought him a glass of water, a stack of paper and a quill, and a tray with a potion philter on it. She wrote down that she wanted him to drink water first. She held his lips back and slowly poured the water into his mouth, letting it get in around his teeth. Then she wrote that the potion was next, and that like all medical potions, was going to be harsh, but he had to swallow it. Bracing himself, she slowly but steadily poured the acidic tasting, bitter potion through his teeth. She assured him that the potion, though slow, would heal his blown eardrums and fix any neural damage done by the Mandrake screams.

Neural damage? He asked. That's comforting…

She left him the quill and paper after writing down that he should rest and not try to get up, and that his parents had been notified. She went back to her duties as he lay there, trying not to get restless. Bored, and with nothing else to do to bide time, he tried to fall asleep, but it alluded him. He ran numbers through his head, counted sheep and even made it to three hundred, but he still wouldn't pass out. After what felt like hours, he was about to hail Pompfrey for a sleeping draught when his mother and Uncle Sirius entered the wing.

Rolling up to him in her wheel chair, his mother gave him the my-poor-baby look and said something. He assumed she asked either what happened or if he was okay. Grabbing a fresh sheet of paper, he wrote, _"Can't hear you, apparently Mandrake scream exposure can cause ear and brain damage."_

Lily's eyes bulged. She wrote down, "_Are you going to be okay?!"_

James replied, "_Madame Pomfrey gave me something... now my mouth tastes like purple."_

_Lily read that and Sirius laughed. Grabbing the paper, he wrote, __"Sounds like you're gonna be perfectly fine."_


End file.
